


It Happened One Night

by wolfiefics



Series: The Maurauders at Hogwarts [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Set during the Marauders fifth year, but doesn't cover the whole year, can be read separately from them, remus injured, uses some of the same characters from the Year One and Year Two stories though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 16:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17791154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: Remus is horribly injured during one full moon run with his fellow Marauders.  Only Sirius, Peter, and James know what really happened. Confessing the events could save Remus' life, or make it worse. It would also reveal their animagus secrets.  Will something that happened one night changed their course of their lives? Set during the spring of the Marauders fifth year.





	1. Bad Moon Rising

"So what's the plan tonight?" asked Peter Pettigrew casually as he studied the chessboard thoughtfully. He had a feeling he was going to lose this game to Sirius if he wasn't careful. Sirius was getting better...well, for a boy with the attention span of a puffskein.

Sirius Black shrugged, moving his knight, only to watch a moment later as Peter moved without seeming to pay any attention, thus getting Sirius' knight clobbered badly. The knight limped off the board and gave Sirius a deeply offended look. "Entirely unnecessary," the knight grumbled.

"Waste of a good piece," agreed Sirius' king.

"Shut up," Sirius growled back.

"I vote we just wander around and see what happens," suggested James Potter around a yawn so intense it scrunched his hazel eyes closed.

Remus Lupin frowned. "Nothing good ever happens when we do that," he told them.

Sirius groaned. "Stop thinking, Moony," he begged, moving another piece only to watch it get clobbered again. "Nothing good ever comes of it!" Remus blew a raspberry at him and Sirius smirked in reply.

Peter checked Sirius' queen and looked over at James. "I agree with James," he said, rubbing the side of his nose as it twitched. "It seems like forever since we've just gone out and enjoyed ourselves."

Sirius glowered teasingly at his chess opponent. "You aren't going all 'back to nature' on us again, are you, Wormtail?"

"No," Peter grumbled, slouching in his chair in a pout. After three of the four friends had managed the difficult process of animagus transformation in order to be with their werewolf fourth, Peter had been fascinated by the concept of going back to nature and surviving as animals if they needed too. The others had ribbed him until he'd lost interest, but that didn't stop them from teasing him about it on occasion.

"Well, _I_ for one," Remus informed them in a haughty manner, "am hoping for a nice quiet night. We haven't had one of _those_ in a while either."

"How boring!" pronounced James.

"Blech!" stated Peter with a wrinkled nose of distaste.

"No spirit of adventure, our Moony," Sirius retorted in disgust.

"Mark my words," Remus warned them as he began to put his things away in order to get ready for his monthly trip to the Shrieking Shack, "one day you'll wish we had a quiet night or two!"

* * *

The pain was excruciating; it always seemed as if it would never end. Remus could never explain it properly and no one who valued his or her life ever dared to watch the transformation process of boy to wolf. By the time it was over Remus the boy was no longer present; only Moony the wolf remained.

Moony wasn't quite full-grown but still monstrous in size, no pun intended. He had the long legs of an animal not quite grown into his size and his fur was a bit rattier than it would be as an adult. It looked better in the winter, full and thick, but still not as healthy as it would be as a fully adult wolf. 

Once Moony had rested a few minutes from his ordeal, he put his nose to the air and took a great sniff. A familiar scent greeted him and he wagged his tail in welcome, the tufted end of the bushy length dusting the ground as it moved. A garden rat scurried forward and patiently allowed himself to be pawed at, sniffed all over and finally suffered through a wet slurp down his back in acknowledgment that the wolf recognized him. 

Peter, in his rat disguise of Wormtail, went through this routine every full moon. The first time it had happened, he was certain Moony was going to devour him so he'd squeaked in terror, causing the wolf to sit back and assume a non-threatening position. It took Wormtail several long moments to realize he was being greeted as a friend and ally, even a packmate. None of the Marauders could explain how Moony knew that the other three in their animal forms were his friends and after awhile it became unimportant. All that mattered was that their plan to be with Remus when he was Moony was successful. The mechanics behind it meant little to them.

Wormtail led Moony to another tunnel, one the Marauders themselves made for their own personal use. No one else knew of its existence, especially none of the adults charged with Moony's secret, something that occasionally caused the quartet twinges of guilt. The very nature of Moony's transformations and his pure animal mind guaranteed that he never remembered the exit and, without Wormtail, would not have been able to access it anyway. Like the main tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow tree, a small lever activated the secondary exit's passageway.

Padfoot, Sirius' animagus form, met Moony and Wormtail halfway down the secondary tunnel. The huge, black, shaggy dog was sitting on his haunches, with a distinctive doggy grin on his face. He gave a welcoming bark to Moony, who loped over and gave the same sniff-over to Padfoot that Wormtail received, minus the licking slurp. In its place was a cheerful gnawing on the back of Padfoot's neck, who submitted long enough to establish that he was still friendly. The three continued on their trek to the out of doors.

At the outside entrance was a creature too large to fit through either tunnel, a majestic stag, antlered and dignified, going by the name of Prongs. Moony's tail wagged enthusiastically and he sniffed all around the lower parts of Prongs' body. He yipped his greeting to the stag as was his monthly custom and began running around in boundless energy, glad to be outside and under the moon. 

Padfoot joined him and for a moment, the two canines wrestled in a mock-battle that Moony, as usual, won. For Padfoot, however, these wrestling matches served a purpose. It allowed him to remember how to fight as a canine and allowed him to calculate Moony's moves and motions, lest Padfoot ever have to come between Moony and human prey. For ultimately, the animal forms of Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs served as more than companionship to the werewolf; they also served as his guardians in exchange for his evening's freedom.

Bored with the dog and wolf's play fighting, Prongs bent low enough that Wormtail could jump upon his back. The little rat's claws sank into the wiry hair of the stag's coat as the cervine headed toward the dark shadows of the Forbidden Forest. Noting that their companions were leaving, the canine and lupine gave excited barks and followed suit.


	2. Secrets in the Dark

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, barreled down the staircase to his office, leapt the last three bottom steps and landed perfectly. He continued to run, dodging a few early rising, curious students with ease as if he were in an obstacle course. He paused only long enough to give a long measuring look to three fifth year Gryffindors standing wide-eyed by the huge front doors before shooting out into the morning fog. The three Gryffindors gave each other uneasy looks and continued their way into the Great Hall for breakfast.

Dumbledore stopped to catch his breath halfway to the Whomping Willow tree. He grabbed up a branch lying on the ground at the edge of the forest and used it to prod the large knot that levered open the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. In an effort to improve the plight of a friend's child, bitten by a werewolf at an unfortunate young age, Dumbledore had conceived of hiding young Remus' lycanthropy by having the boy transform monthly in the Shack, protecting the boy and those around him while giving Remus a chance at a normal life. It was also an experiment; Dumbledore hoped that the Wizarding world would take note of Remus' human self enough that perhaps, when his lycanthropy became common knowledge, the boy would have a chance at finding a place in the world when he became an adult.

Madam Pomfrey met Dumbledore halfway down the tunnel, her face pinched and anxious. Before he could say anything she whispered shakily, "It's bad, Albus."

Dumbledore followed her hurriedly back to the Shack and surveyed the scene around him. It was pure destruction. The rickety table and chairs in the kitchen/dining area were completely broken apart. The old stone fireplace sported damage; chips of stone littered the area around it. Curtains were torn from the windows or hung haphazardly from their rods. As he approached the staircase with Madam Pomfrey, he noticed that it too suffered damage. The railing had parts missing, splintered from the looks of things. Rungs had been broken off as well. The steps were scratched and a couple had deep gouge marks in it. 

Like those from the claws of an animal.

Dumbledore and Pomfrey shared concerned looks and then headed to the room Madam Pomfrey had discovered young Remus Lupin in. It looked to Dumbledore as if he had crawled up there, painfully and slowly, eventually collapsing. Whether this occurred before or after transformation, Dumbledore couldn't tell. A quick glance around the room and the rest of the upstairs confirmed Dumbledore's idea that the fight convened only downstairs. Whoever, or whatever, Remus fought had escaped. There had been a blood trail, mostly drops and occasionally smears, but nothing to indicate anyone, or anything, than Remus having injuries.

Dumbledore bent down next to the boy, and calmly placed his long-fingered hand on the sweaty forehead. "Fever is alarmingly high," whispered Madam Pomfrey, "and his pulse rate is at least double what it should be."

Dumbledore frowned and looked closely at the gash in Remus' right leg. "Something cut him here," he motioned to the wound.

Pomfrey nodded. "Yes, but I can't tell what made it. It's not clean like a knife or bladed weapon."

"It doesn't look like a claw gash, either," Dumbledore added, inspecting closely. "Not really, though, I suppose..."

"Suppose what, Albus? Do you think something got in?" Pomfrey looked alarm and looked around frantically for sign of a break-in.

"Anything big enough to take on a werewolf and live could not fit through the tunnel to get in here." Dumbledore took off his outer robes. "We need to get him to the infirmary." He stood up, gently wrapped Remus in the robes and lifted the boy's limp body off the floor. Madam Pomfrey rushed ahead to clear debris out of his path while Dumbledore carried the slight frame of the boy through the Shack, the tunnel and out into the dispersing fog.

"How are we going to get him to the infirmary without anyone noticing his injuries?" fretted Pomfrey. 

"Concealment Charm." He juggled Remus briefly in his arms as he freed his wand from the confines of his robes and then cast the spell on himself and Remus. "I'll meet you in the infirmary. Go fetch Peter Pettigrew, James Potter, and Sirius Black from the Great Hall and tell Minerva to join us as well. I think those three boys can help us."

The nurse nodded and rushed off. Dumbledore continued his cautious trudge to the infirmary, nimbly dodging students rushing down for breakfast. Any students that happened to bump into the two invisible travelers merely assumed they'd run into another student or an invisible ghost.

* * *

"Merlin's nose!" exclaimed Professor Minerva McGonagall in distress when she viewed the injured form of Remus Lupin. The boy tossed and turned restlessly in his fever. He muttered unintelligibly. "What's happened?"

"That is a very good question, Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly, as he motioned the three boys behind her to come forward. "Has there been any problem with Remus of late?"

The three boys looked at each other in surprise. " _With_ Remus?" asked James cautiously. "What do you mean _with_ Remus?"

Dumbledore considered the three for a moment, wondering if this was a clue. The trio looked extremely discomfited, but he couldn't tell if it was from worry and concern over their friend's welfare or something else entirely.

"I mean," he clarified calmly, "has Remus been acting peculiar? Has he been feeling unwell? Easier to make angry, melancholy, or anything of that nature?"

"No, sir," replied Sirius quickly and then he grimaced.

"And you made that face for, why?" asked Dumbledore in concern. The boys exchanged glances again, this time ones of alarm. Dumbledore's suspicion of their knowledge of Remus' injuries grew. "Boys, we have to know everything you know so we can help Remus."

"Is he going to die?" asked Peter, his gaze anxious on Remus' contorted countenance.

"We don't want to take him to St. Mungo's," Dumbledore began but one of the boys interrupted.

"Why not?" demanded James. "If they can help -"

"They will know what Mr. Lupin is," Dumbledore gently told them. Their faces turned white. "And he will not be allowed to return to Hogwarts. I, and several others like Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall, put our reputations and jobs on the line to bring Mr. Lupin here. We will be sacked for allowing him to attend. That, of course, will be the least of the consequences, but it is enough to be going on with. Suffice to say, it is a last resort option."

Uneasy looks were exchanged between the three Gryffindors again but what they communicated Dumbledore couldn't say. Finally, James looked away and mumbled, "We don't know anything, sir."

Dumbledore sighed and looked at McGonagall, who raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. "Very well, if you remember something, tell us immediately. We'll hold off taking Remus to St. Mungo's for as long as we can. You are dismissed to class."

The boys nodded, looked worriedly at their friend in his hospital bed and then trudged off, heads together and whispering fiercely.

"They know something," McGonagall told him sternly.

"I know." Dumbledore looked down sorrowfully at the restless form on the hospital bed.


	3. Revelations and Accusations

Remus moaned as the light hit his eyes when he opened them. Shadow instantly blocked the harsh light and he cracked his eyes open further. 

"Better?" asked the gentle voice of Madam Pomfrey.

"Yes," he croaked. "What happened?" He grimaced in pain when he tried to shift his legs.

"A very good question, Mr. Lupin. Do you recall anything out of the ordinary?" Madam Pomfrey's steady hands drifted over him as she worked her healing magics.

Remus tried to remember something, anything, but came up a blank. He did not even remember going to the Whomping Willow, though he knew he must have. "No." He shook his head and groaned when pain lanced through it like a knife.

"No unnecessary movements, my dear," the school nurse tut-tutted at him, handing him a small bottle of pain-relieving potion.

"Am I hurt bad?" Remus made a face at the nasty concoction after swallowing it.

There was hesitation and then Madam Pomfrey drew back the sheet from his right leg, revealing a long, wicked gash from the side of his knee almost to his mid-calf. Remus stared at it in horror, wondering how on Earth he had received such a wound. Nightmarish scenarios bounded around in his brain, each one worse than the last. 

"Did I-" He swallowed and tried again. "Did I hurt someone? Kill...someone?"

"No, dear, but we would like to find out how you got so injured in the Shack." Madam Pomfrey looked at him expectantly, as if she figured he would give her the answer immediately.

"I don't remember," Remus said, his voice turning panicky. "I never remember anything..." He started to wheeze as visions of dead human bodies littering the ground, their faces his friends, classmates, family, and random Hogsmeade inhabitants. One bore the tiny face of the little girl he saw at the last Hogsmeade weekend visit.

Alarmed at Remus' panic, Pomfrey hurriedly soothed him, using a calming charm on him. "It's all right, Mr. Lupin. We didn't expect you to remember anything, merely hoped you might. You've done nothing wrong." She continued to murmur soothing words until Remus regained his self-control. He took a deep shuddering breath and nodded when she asked, "Better now?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'm going to go get the Headmaster. He wanted to be informed the moment you awoke. He's been most concerned." Madam Pomfrey gave him a small smile before heading straight for her office, where she would undoubtedly contact Dumbledore.

"What happened?" Remus demanded of himself over and over. "Think, what happened?" Nothing came to him, not even a vague impression of the wolf within him, which was odd. There was always a latent restlessness for several days following a full moon where the wolf below the skin struggled with his mystical banishment. While there was certainly no calm, there was also a sense of...nothingness that bothered Remus no end.

As Remus struggled to comprehend what it all meant, exhaustion crept over him. His eyes fluttered closed and he dozed. Madam Pomfrey frowned when she returned and discovered him thus but reassured Dumbledore when he eventually arrived that it was a light sleep, not anything imposed from his injuries as before. The two walked a short distance away and discussed what little Madam Pomfrey had learned.

Neither was aware that Remus had roused quietly from his slumber at their soft droning tones.

"There is one thing I need to mention, Headmaster," the nurse said crisply. "If this is silver poisoning, the sooner we know, the better. It's a lengthy procedure to purge it from his system. It will be a couple days of healing and very uncomfortable for him. It must be done before the next full moon. If the silver is still in his system when he transforms..." She let the sentence trail off. 

It was common medical knowledge that werewolves in their human forms disliked silver, even had what could be termed an extreme allergic reaction to it. If any silver got into their system in human form, it had to be removed as quickly as possible. If silver was exposed to a werewolf in its lupine form, the metal was far more deadly. Trace silver amounts in the bloodstream, which was highly acidic, 'melted' and dispersed the metal through out the body and made the silver fatal. Gouged by silver in wolf form meant that the silver was now traveling through Remus' less toxic human system. When Remus transformed the next full moon, the silver in his bloodstream would become completely incompatible, acting like a poison, killing him the instant his body became wolf.

"He will die immediately," Dumbledore finished for her somberly. 

Remus managed to stifle a horrified gasp.

"The procedure should only be done to him if we can verify silver in his system, Albus," Pomfrey told him urgently. "It could do harm if there is none, as well. We have to be certain."

Dumbledore turned his eyes to Remus' form lying on the bed, unaware the young man listened. "Can you do this procedure, Poppy?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, without a doubt." Pomfrey's tone was confident.

"So no need to involve St. Mungo's unless something goes wrong?"

Remus swore he heard Madam Pomfrey's spine crack as she stiffened her shoulders back in determination. "None whatsoever," she replied unequivocally.

"Very well, I shall see what I can discover about what happened that night. I want you to consider all the pros and cons to the procedure, in case I do not verify our suspicions. Are you fairly certain it's silver poisoning?" The two adults continued to discuss his condition as Remus lay in his bed, blankets to his chin and tears glistening unshed in his eyes. 

What had his friends and he done that night? They had been so carefree and careless of what they would do once Remus transformed. Had something gone wrong? Had they had a brilliant plan that got Remus hurt? Dozens of questions pummeled at Remus' mind until, at last, mentally exhausted, he fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

Remus awoke some hours later to find three pairs of eyes staring anxiously at him. Relief and tentative smiles when he blinked owlishly at their faces peering at him were his greeting.

"You're awake!" cheered Peter quietly, sitting on the chair to the left of the bed.

"You snore. Never noticed that," chimed in an abashed Sirius from his position right by Remus' head.

"We were worried," confessed James, fussing with the corner of Remus' blankets by his feet.

"Is that all you're going to say?" Remus demanded, looking around for the whereabouts of Madam Pomfrey or any other adult that might listen in on the conversation.

"What'd you want us to say, mate?" Sirius looked puzzled, an expression that incensed Remus.

"Oh, Mr. Devil May Care, over here!" he snapped. "I'm lying in a hospital bed, seriously injured, maybe dying, and you can only make jokes?"

The other three gave uncomfortable laughs. "Dying?" James' smile was strained. "Exaggerating a bit, aren't we?"

"No," Remus replied tersely and went on to describe what he'd overheard from Madam Pomfrey and Headmaster Dumbledore. The other three were suitably appalled, exchanging speaking glances that Remus couldn't decipher. "What happened?" They didn't say anything, merely glanced away guiltily. "What did you do?"

"We didn't _do_ anything!" exploded Sirius and the other three shushed him quickly.

The nurse stuck her head out of her office door to frown out them. "He must not get worked up!" she admonished them. When they all made agreements and placated her sufficiently, she disappeared again.

"Nothing happened, Remus," Peter insisted. 

"No?" Remus watched as his three friends shook their heads. "Then how did _this_ happen?" He jerked the covers from his right leg, revealing the ugly wound, now discoloured around the open gash. A bandage covered the cut itself, but the discolouration was clearly visible. Remus' leg was also swollen considerably, enough that he could not bend his knee properly, as he demonstrated perversely.

"I-" James swallowed, staring at the appendage next to him in morbid fascination. "That is to say, we-"

"-don't know," finished Sirius firmly, his grey eyes darting from Remus' bandaged leg to his face repeatedly.

Peter said nothing but nervously chewed on his lower lip, looking away from Remus' accusing stare.

"Fine." Remus repeatedly flicked the covers until his leg was covered again, jerking away irritably when James attempted to awkwardly help. "Have it your way. Hide and keep your secrets. I can see now that everyone was right about you all along." Remus blinked back tears again, this time the sense of betrayal from his friends ripping him up inside.

"What do you mean?" demanded Peter, surging to his feet. 

"Yeah!" James and Sirius repeated, following Peter's cue.

"You only care about people that amuse you, make you look good. As soon as someone's not convenient or fun, you drop them." Remus' voice cracked a little and he strove to maintain some semblance of calm. "Friendship with your sort comes with conditions."

"That's not true!" James shouted.

"If that were the case, mate," Sirius ground out angrily, "we would have dumped you a long time ago for being a spoilsport."

"Sirius!" gasped Peter and James whapped him on the head.

"Misters Black, Potter and Pettigrew, leave at _once_!" The three Gryffindors turned to see Madam Pomfrey descending upon them, breathing fire and waving a bottle of unknown substance. "Immediately!" 

Remus watched, seething, as the three turned on their heels and immediately vacated the room. Their thundering footsteps in the corridor could be heard as they pounded away and Remus, completely dejected and feeling betrayed that they wouldn't trust him with the truth, curled on his side as much as he could away from the nurse's pitying gaze.

"Here, dear," she said quietly a few minutes later. "This will help calm you down. You need to rest." He drank the potion. It tasted like cardboard after the bitter taste of betrayed friendship.


	4. Getting the Story Straight

Sirius stomped into their dormitory, seething with misplaced righteous indignation. "Where does he get off claiming _we_ betrayed his friendship?" Sirius exploded.

"We should tell him!" Peter stated firmly. "He has a right to know what almost happened."

James shook his head almost immediately. "We can't, Peter!" he countered. "He'll want us to tell Dumbledore. Then Dumbledore will know _everything_ we've done. He'll expel Remus -"

"And us," tacked on Sirius grimly.

"And that poacher will still be out there, hunting other creatures, other werewolves!" James shoved a hand through his already chaotic hair as he paced around the room.

"But Remus is our friend," Peter pointed out almost forlornly. "We can't let him think we tried to get him killed."

There was silence with that statement, for each boy knew that it was true. They were going to have to think of _something_...but what?

Sirius snapped his fingers, the sound echoing oddly in the room. "We catch the poacher."

"What?" Peter and James said in unison, staring at Sirius in shock.

"We catch the poacher! He'll tell Dumbledore what happened!"

James looked skeptical. "And if he mentions a rat, a dog and a stag helping the werewolf?"

"Who'd believe him?" reasoned Sirius, plopping himself on the closest bed, Peter's. "A werewolf running around with buddies in the Forbidden Forest?"

"Dumbledore would believe him," Peter contradicted. "The werewolf in question has three friends in both human and animal form?"

Sirius muttered to himself, caught with that point.

"But." The two boys turned to James, who had stopped his pacing to think. "But if _Dumbledore_ finds the poacher in the Shack...would he believe him when he said he encountered the werewolf in the forest?" The other two grinned. "Think about it. You get caught red-handed in a place where you've injured a beast, what would you do or say to get out of trouble?"

"Make up some cock-in-bull story in the hopes that someone's dumb enough to believe you?" Sirius suggested, having come up with several similar stories of his own in his short lifetime.

"And," Peter rubbed his hands together gleefully, "Dumbledore's not dumb enough."

"No," James sniggered, "he's not."

"So what we have to do now is figure out how we're going to hunt this guy down." Sirius sat cross-legged on Peter's bed and looked expectantly at his two comrades. "And we have to get our stories straight to tell to Remus."

"To heck with a story for Remus," moaned Peter, plopping next to Sirius and snuggling up on his fluffy pillows. "I myself am still fuzzy on what happened that night."

"Yeah."

"You're right."

Silence reigned as the trio remembered the chaotic events of two nights previous. 

"What do you guys remember?" Peter asked tentatively.

"Let's go in turns," Sirius suggested. "The more information we remember, the better our chances in finding this guy." 

James took a deep breath and fell stomach first on his bed, which was next to Peter's. "Okay. This is what _I_ remember."


	5. A Stag's Night

The three figures glided through the shadows toward their private entrance to the Shrieking Shack. The three boys were in a jovial mood, looking forward to transforming into their animagus shapes and running about the Forbidden Forest for the night. The fact that it was still a weeknight, and that they would be exhausted the next day for classes, mattered little. The fourth member of their group may truly dread the full moons, but the other three looked forward to them with great anticipation.

There was something, James Potter decided to himself as they slunk from shadow to shadow, exciting about having a dangerous secret no one else knows.

As had been their routine, the three boys transformed prior to meeting up with the werewolf. There were two reasons for it, besides the obvious one of not antagonizing the monstrous beast with the lingering scent of humanity. One was in case something went wrong with one of their transformations. The other two could help or get him to help. The second reason was to 'fit' into their shapes. The sensation of being an animal was an unfamiliar one, as they only did it once a month. They felt they needed to acclimatize to act natural and thus give nothing away to their potentially dangerous friend.

Peter transformed into his rat form, scampering about, whiskery nose twitching as he took in the scents of the evening. Sirius shifted into a great black dog, his thick coat wiry. His tongue lolled out and he flopped down to watch Wormtail dig at the ground. James felt his own shift from human boy to majestic stag take hold, felt his body bending to the will of the magic he performed. It was a heady experience, frightening and exhilarating at the same time. When four hooves hit the ground, Prongs shook his mighty head, the antlers creating strips of shadow in the moonlit grass.

When the moon was fully out, Wormtail and Padfoot entered the Marauder's personal tunnel to fetch Moony. Prongs, too large to fit into the tunnel, remained behind as a guard. If something went wrong with Moony, and Wormtail and Padfoot were taken out, Prongs was the last line of defense. He was also the guard that kept anyone from their tunnel to get to Moony. They had even made a signal where Prongs would warn the other two to keep Moony inside the Shack and safety.

Prongs watched the world around him carefully but eventually relaxed when all was as it should be. The tunnel entrance opened and, with Wormtail leading the way, Moony emerged. Padfoot was not far behind, his neck ruff bunched as usual where Moony had gnawed on it in happy greeting.

Prongs admired the werewolf as it came running over to him with great enthusiasm, sniffing around his tall legs and rolling in the grass to present his wolf belly in trust. Their Moony truly was a spectacular looking animal, Prongs had to admit. It was hard to see the monster in the carefree and jolly animal before him. Other than slight physical differences, Moony appeared as any other wolf with his packmates. Moony and Padfoot began wrestling in a fierce mock-battle and, after a short time, Prongs decided it was time to get Moony into the Forest.

He knelt his front legs down enough that little Wormtail could jump onto his back. Being so small, Wormtail had trouble keeping up with the larger animals in the Forest. In addition, being on Prongs' back gave Wormtail a measure of protection that Prongs was happy to give. With a snort to alert the other two that it was time to leave, Prongs headed for the Forest's edge and the adventure within.

With no harebrained schemes planned for the evening, Prongs anticipated some exploration. As the quartet burrowed deeper into the black woods, Prongs noted that there was something wrong with Moony the further they went. The werewolf became more alert, less playful. He would sniff at things and dart away, only to be herded back by Padfoot or Prongs.

Prongs concentrated his senses on the unfamiliar ground around them, a location they hadn't yet explored, in case there was danger the werewolf sensed. So intent was he on the Forest around them that Prongs was totally unprepared for Moony's flight. With a howl and sudden snarl, Moony dashed forward, instantly swallowed in the darkness. Startled, neither Prongs nor Padfoot gave immediate chase, but they did not hesitate for long.

Prongs' heart was racing as he leaped fallen trees and overgrown shrubbery. Moony's snarls came from directly ahead, along with shouting that made Prongs' heart drop.

_Human_ shouting.

He couldn't discern the words but any contact Moony had with humans was bound to be bad for everyone. Prongs watched as Padfoot put on a burst of speed to pull ahead, launching himself over some thick tangles of bramble. Prongs had to go around and he felt through his wiry coat Wormtail's claws digging in for better purchase at the neck-or-nothing chase they had engaged in.

When Prongs burst onto the scene, if he'd been in human form, he'd have shouted in horror. Padfoot had latched onto Moony's throat and was wrestling him to the ground. So intent had he been on controlling Moony that Padfoot had entirely missed that the man Moony had tried to attack wasn't exactly defenseless. Prongs didn't recognize the long weapon in the man's hands but knew it boded ill for all of them. With a honking bleat, he lunged with his front hooves at what he knew was a hunter, knocking the weapon from the man's hands. Another form blurred past his vision and he watched as Wormtail latched himself onto the man's face, teeth sunk into his nose and all four feet scratching and gouging.

Prongs turned to Padfoot and Moony, fighting viciously. Padfoot infuriated his former playmate by continually blocking Moony's attempt to get to his human prey. Padfoot got such a good sink of teeth into Moony that the werewolf whirled on him and Padfoot was off, streaking into the shadows with an irate Moony hot on his heels. Prongs' moment of indecision allowed Wormtail a chance to get back on him and soon the two were in pursuit of their dog-like friends. Dimly, Prongs could hear the man lumbering through the brush behind them and suddenly he had an idea.

Prongs darted behind a tree and shifted back into a boy, a dangerous move he knew, but the only way to communicate with Wormtail. "I'll get you to the Forest edge and you help Padfoot as much as you can. Get Moony into the shack again. I'm going to try to get this guy to follow me! To lead him away from Moony!" The rat squeaked and James quickly concentrated. He once again became Prongs and the two were off for the edge of the Forest. 

On four feet Prongs was much faster than the hunter was, his long legs leaping obstacles in his path with surprising ease. He winced as Wormtail's claws dug in deep to hold on but he didn't protest. Time was of the essence; he could endure the pain those sharp little claws gave. He careened to a halt at the Forest's edge and Wormtail rolled off him and into the grass, beady eyes staring wide-eyed at the large stag. Prongs nodded his head once, turned on his heel and raced back to where they'd last heard the hunter.

A poacher, it had to be, Prongs reasoned. Werewolf parts were highly prized potions ingredients in more unscrupulous parts of the world. Moony was practically a walking, snarling apothecary's dream. The sounds of the werewolf and dog snarling and snapping caused Prongs to swerve to them. He heard the hunter stalking through the woods as well, heading straight for the other two animals. Prongs darted between the poacher and his quarry, rising on his back hooves again to knock the man over. 

Irate, the man took a swipe at him with something shiny in his hand. Prongs didn't get a close look, but figured it to be some sort of weapon, possibly a knife. He continued to antagonize the man as Padfoot continued to do the same to Moony, drawing further distance between the two hunters/prey. Hoping that it was enough, Prongs raced off in another direction and was relieved to hear the poacher giving chase. With any luck, by the time the poacher gave up chasing the stag, Padfoot and Wormtail would have Moony safely in the Shack and the poacher empty-handed.

His heart pounded in his ears, a fast staccato so unlike his human heart when excited. His hooves thum-thumped in hard rhythm as he ran. He would pause occasionally to listen to the poacher running after him. On his fifth pause, however, he no longer heard the human behind him. Panic gripped the stag and he turned quickly to race back the way he'd come.

He'd never guessed a deer's sense of smell as particularly keener than a human's had had, but Prongs had little trouble following the poacher's trail straight to the Whomping Willow entrance. The tree was flailing about, telling Prongs that it had recently been disturbed. Unable to do anything further, Prongs waited outside for the outcome. He could hear nothing except his own harsh breathing from the exertion. He felt nothing but fear and panic that their recklessness may have done something that would forfeit the life of their friend, possibly even their own.

After what seemed at eternity, Prongs considered turning back into his human form when he heard heavy, panicked breathing and scrambling at the entrance to the Willow tree tunnel. The little tree bark doorway opened, the tree froze and the poacher came crawling out. He looked as if he'd been in a ferocious fight; his clothes were tattered and his body bore teeth and claw marks of a rat and at least one canine. Moreover, that wasn't counting the damage he took running roughneck through the forest.

Prongs backed up out of the man's immediate line of vision. The tree, temporarily frozen once more, came to life just as he cleared it's reach. Incensed, Prongs gave a battle cry from his cervine throat. The poacher looked up, horror etched on his face, and began to scramble away. Prongs chased him a fair distance back into the forest, getting a good nudge with his antlers in the man's behind, before trotting back to the tree. After ascertaining there were no more humans around, Prongs transformed back into James, poked the tree, and scrambled inside.

Both Peter and Sirius, neither in their animal forms, met him halfway down the tunnel. They both looked exhausted and terrified. "How is he?" asked Sirius, panting much like the dog he'd been moments before.

"The poacher?" asked James incredulously. "I gored his arse as he ran for it!"

Peter sagged against the stone wall. "I don't think he got bit, Sirius. I don't think he got bit." Peter chanted the phrase over and over. James stared at him in horror.

"How'd the berk get in here?" he demanded.

"No idea. We got Moony in, he was still pissed off as hell," explained Sirius, sliding down his side of the wall to sit. "Just as he was starting to calm down, this guy just appears in the doorway, grinning maniacally. I can't...I can't talk about it right now. Prongs...James, Moony, he's..."

"The guy stabbed him or something!" burst out Peter, launching to his feet once more. The boys raced down the tunnel as fast as they could in the awkward space. 

The place was wrecked. A blood trail led upstairs and James pounded up the steps, not thinking. His brain kicked in just as hit the bedroom door. "Shit! We're human!"

"He's dead to the world, mate," Sirius said, brushing past him and into the room. "I don't think even transforming back into Remus is going to wake him up."

On Moony's leg was a huge tear, blooding seeping from it, but not copiously, as if something was magically coagulating the blood.

"That sonuvabitch," swore James, collapsing next to his wolfish friend. 

"You sure he was a poacher?" asked Peter tiredly, sitting next to James, sweat beading his brow despite the relative cool of the room.

"What else could he be?" asked James.

"Dinner," was Sirius' morbid reply. They all shuddered.

And waited for dawn. When the body of their friend began to twist and contort, the three hurriedly left. James couldn't resist one last peek as his friend Remus emerged from the beast they had dubbed Moony. They were all in deep, deep trouble.


	6. The Tale of a Terrified Rat

The shadows made Peter jumpy as he and his two friends wound their way to the Whomping Willow that evening. The plan, as always, was to transform first, fetch Moony, then get into the Forest and out of harm's way. 

At first, Peter _hated_ * his animal form, but other boys were ecstatic, claiming it was perfect. Once he realized just how useful it was, Peter warmed up to being a rat. It was comforting, if sometimes inconvenient. It was a bit painful, to transform. While he doubted his transformation was more uncomfortable than Remus', it still wasn't the most pleasant of experiences. 

Yet once Wormtail, Peter _loved_ it. It was freedom, he felt important, and, more significantly, his friends seemed to have more of a use for him in this form than as a boy. Relishing in the freedom of not feeling so conscientious of his chubby body and average features, Wormtail squeaked, rolled in the dust, and sniffed the breeze. The rich earth was inviting to him. 

He eyed the cloudless sky, searching for the telltale shadow of an owl or other bird of prey overhead. While he doubted no bird would attack him with Padfoot and Prongs with him, it never hurt to be wary. Such attacks, he'd seen many a times as a child in his rural village, came without warning and oftentimes the prey was dead before it even knew it.

Heavy panting to his left caught his attention and he whirled around with a squeak of dismay. Sirius had transformed already into Padfoot and was panting in the unseasonable sultry night air. His coat was thick and brittle, typical of his breed, whatever that was. Wormtail never quite discerned it and often teased Sirius of being a mutt. The little rat looked over his shoulder in time to see James' transformation into a dignified stag complete. He shook his antlers as if clearing his head and Wormtail had an inane desire to leap about in the shadows in play.

Padfoot made a chuffing sound at him and they made their way to their private tunnel entrance, secretly made just for their use. Wormtail was proud of that tunnel, for it had been his idea. Why not use a different route than Moony's adult caretakers at the school? That way, no one would be the wiser and it would be special? They all agreed it was a brilliant idea and made sure that their tunnel's entrance was completely hidden from the school, the village of Hogsmeade, and Hagrid's groundskeeper hut.

Wormtail activated the lever to their tunnel and he and Padfoot made their way in, leaving Prongs behind to guard as he could not fit. Halfway down Padfoot stopped, as usual, and waited for Wormtail to continue and retrieve their werewolf friend. Wormtail reached the main door to the Shack but paused. They were early; he could still hear Remus transforming into Moony.

Usually they tried to be late enough to miss this. It was very disturbing to Wormtail to hear the pain and anguish that his friend went through involuntarily. It really was not fair, Wormtail thought, for Remus was the best of friends, kind-hearted, gentle, and fun. He helped everyone, was generous with his time, and rarely poked fun at Wormtail in the hurtful manner that James and Sirius sometimes used. The human cries turned into animalistic howls; Wormtail cringed at the sounds of breaking and reforming bones and other sounds he dared not identify, as they were too incomprehensible to consider. 

When the pained noises ceased, there was heavy breathing and soon all was still. Wormtail waited a bit longer, wanting his friend to rest a bit from his ordeal before retrieving him. When the wolf seemed to become restless to Wormtail's sharp hearing, he triggered the door and revealed himself to the monster within.

Except Moony wasn't a monster. If Wormtail could describe Moony, it was playful. Moony was a fun wolf and very affectionate. Sniffing, Moony's shaggy, tufted tail whipped the air and the dusty floor in greeting, loping over joyfully to greet his rat friend. The first time this had happened, Wormtail had been terrified out of his mind. He thought the werewolf was attacking and had tried to run away. Now, he merely suffered through it, understanding it was a friendly greeting, if still a bit disconcerting.

Moony's great paws rolled him onto his back and the little rat could help but give a funny squeal as the wolf's heavy breath blew his belly fur in a tickling manner. After being sniffed all over, Wormtail suffered a huge, drooly slurp down his back. It was something he'd never told Remus. In fact, as far as he knew, none of Remus' friends told him how Moony greeted them. Remus rarely wanted to discuss what had happened during their full moons; he was complacent with the notion that the wolf was content and that the raging storm within him was quieter than it had ever been.

Once Moony's rather wet greeting was finished, Wormtail lured him out of the Shack. It was pathetically easy. The wolf was happy to do anything his pal wanted, really, which Wormtail understood. He'd learned to be an animagus for Moony's sake, after all. He was grateful as well that the wolf's memories of events were short-term. The wolf was always surprised at seeing the tunnel, yet obedient in Wormtail's insistence that he follow.

He led Moony straight to Padfoot and watched with some bemusement as Padfoot received his friendly greeting next. It was considerably rougher, something Wormtail was thankful he didn't have to suffer through, involving a great flash of teeth gnawing on Padfoot's neck, as well as the prerequisite sniff-over. Ritual for greeting Padfoot complete, Wormtail led the way out of the tunnel, Moony trailing behind happily, followed closely by Padfoot in the rear.

The three animals burst into the outdoors to confront Prongs. Everyone had been nervous at first at what Moony's reaction to Prongs would be. After all, wolves normally ate prey animals like deer or rabbits, yet Moony didn't seem to care one jot what Prongs was in the food chain of nature. He sensed another friend each time and did his enthusiastic greeting of the stag as well. Much sniffing and rolling in the grass nearby the cervine was the bulk of this ritual, to Wormtail's amusement. Prongs seemed to miss out on the slurpy tongue and gnawing. 

Wormtail squeaked in dismay as the two canids began to wrestle, snarling and growling as each tried to get the upper hand. Or paw, as the case may be. Wary of being accidentally smooshed into the grass, Wormtail scurried over to Prongs, who knelt down in an indication for Wormtail to climb onboard for a free ride. This was the best part of being Wormtail. His diminutive size, compared to the other three, made his ability to keep up with them as they ran through the Forest difficult. So he either hitched a ride on Prongs or Padfoot, though Prongs was his favorite. He had more height to view things from Prongs back, and more room to cling as well. Prongs also tended to not run around like a complete idiot, which seemed to be Padfoot's modus operandi.

Prongs made his way to the forest's edge and the other two noticed, bounding toward them gleefully, tongues lolling out from their exerted play. Soon the wind was rushing past Wormtail and he felt exhilaration course through his small body. They whipped around trees, jumped fallen logs and other obstacles as they ran deeper and deeper into the forest. Obviously Prongs was wanting to explore, and while normally Wormtail found that a bit worrying (after all, to many things in this forest, he was snack-sized), tonight he felt carefree enough to not care what they did, as long as they were together.

The feeling did not last. Wormtail had no warning of anything amiss, when Moony suddenly gave a howl that pierced the rat's small eardrums and raced off into the darkness. Prongs and Padfoot quickly gave chase. Wormtail dug his claws into Prongs' thin, yet sturdy coat as he hung on for dear life. Things moved past him too quickly, he could make out nothing in the night air when he managed to get a good sniff. Nothing except danger and plenty of it. Padfoot vanished through a bramble hedge of some sort, causing Prongs to go around. By the time Prongs and Wormtail burst onto the scene, things were chaotic.

Wormtail took in the tableau before him quickly, assessing the situation faster than his friends would have guessed it of him. A poacher, Moony had smelled and tried to attack a poacher. Padfoot was currently engaged in trying to keep Moony from tearing the stupid man limb from limb. The man raised what Wormtail realized in horror was a rifle, undoubtedly containing silver bullets, but Prongs reared up suddenly, his front hooves bashing the rifle from the man's hands. On the stag's down momentum, Wormtail used it to increase his launch speed at the poacher, landing with perfect aim on his face. His tiny sharp teeth latching onto the man's nose bridge and all four feet were loose and scratching wildly.

The man was going to shoot Moony! Wormtail felt anger and horror course through his body like molten lava. No one hurt Moony on _Wormtail's_ watch! He began making ferocious noises, not much he admitted, being a rat and all, but he hoped his disapproval was apparent. Something flashed in the man's hand and Wormtail felt it stab at him, missing him by centimeters. From his periphery vision, he noted it was a serrated blade knife, a wicked looking thing that made Wormtail want to sink his teeth in deeper.

He wasn't sure how but Padfoot had run away, Moony in bad-tempered pursuit. Sensing his own ride was going to be following them, Wormtail thrust himself with a good claw in the man's lower lip away from the poacher's face. He turned sharply in midair and landed with little grace on Prongs' back as the stag began to turn away to chase their friends. Wormtail dug his claws in once more but risked a glance over his shoulder at the poacher, bloodied and maddened. The poacher began to chase them, lumbering through the woods rather ungracefully. Wormtail was thankful that the man had not picked up his rifle. They had a better chance if he didn't have it.

Prongs, without warning, whipped around a tree and transformed into James. His hands tightened almost harshly on Wormtail's middle in his panic. James' voice was loud so close to Wormtail's sensitive ears but was completely understandable. "I'll get you to the Forest edge and you help Padfoot as much as you can. Get Moony into the shack again. I'm going to try and get this guy to follow me! To lead him away from Moony!" 

Wormtail squeaked his acknowledgment, though he doubted the plan would work. Still, a plan with iffy chances was better than no plan at all. Once again transformed, James as Prongs ran as fast as his four deer legs could take them to the edge of the forest, not far from Hagrid's shack. Wormtail leaped off, landing badly on the grass, rolling with the momentum of his fall. Ignoring the sprain in his leg, Wormtail was off to the two tunnel entrances, thankfully not too far from the other. With luck, Padfoot would get Moony to the Whomping Willow entrance, which was easier to open and get the werewolf through.

There were a few minutes of silence that seemed like an eternity to the boy disguised as a rat. Then came the pounding of feet, the low growls of Padfoot and Moony as the two animals came toward him. Wormtail squeaked repeatedly in a bid to gain their attention. Moony still seemed angry but not in the rage-state he'd been in when confronted with the possibility of human prey. He was a bit more manageable as Padfoot herded him into the tunnel that Wormtail quickly opened. With the werewolf through, Wormtail followed the two canids, not stopping to make sure the tunnel door closed completely behind them.

Moony was rough-housed into the shack, breathing heavily and snapping at Padfoot whenever the black dog got too close. Neither of them looked all that well. Padfoot was limping a bit and his fur was matted and torn-looking. Wormtail smelled little blood on either of them, nothing from significant bites at any rate, though perhaps a few scratches from the woods they had tumbled through in their fight.

Footsteps echoed through the tunnel behind Wormtail and, before he could sound an alarm, there was the man in the entryway. Moony gave a great snarl and launched himself, his shadow blocking out any light temporarily over Wormtail, blinding him only for a moment. Padfoot ran the rat over as he once again came between the man and the wolf.

Anger once again coursed hot through Wormtail's veins and he ran over and began to bite and chew on the human's legs. The man kicked out, tossing the rat across the room. Wormtail landed hard on the hardwood floor, his world spinning crazily, but he gamely staggered to his feet and headed back into the fray. In fact, he was still so woozy from the blow he'd received, he only fuzzily saw Moony disentangle himself from a desperate Padfoot and attack the poacher. The man lashed out with his knife and Moony gave a yowling yip of pain, falling back and staggering almost immediately.

Padfoot reared up and gave Moony a great shove away from the poacher, causing the werewolf to roll away. Wormtail noted that Moony wasn't moving well, staggering and whining piteously. As Padfoot engaged the poacher with a vengeful growl, Wormtail made his way over to the werewolf, who was laboriously starting up the stairs, dragging his right leg. The acrid smell of blood assault Wormtail's sensitive nose and he weaved his way around the blood smatters and smears as he followed Moony upstairs. Moony made it to the bedroom and collapsed.

In that moment, Wormtail knew they were in desperate, desperate trouble. Moony was injured and now unconscious. There was a poacher in the shack, one who knew about the werewolf's ability to get out with the help of animal friends. This was a disaster made. He poked a paw at the werewolf but Moony didn't even twitch. Taking a deep breath and a chance, Wormtail returned to his human form and Peter let out a sob he couldn't contain.

Padfoot's fight with the poacher seemed to have ended as there was no noise coming from downstairs. Uncertainly Peter peeked around the corner to look down, only to discover Padfoot panting heavily on the floor. The poacher was nowhere in sight. "Sirius!" Peter hissed. The dog looked up with patent shock and transformed into his own human shape.

"Are you _insane_?" Sirius demanded, his throat hoarse and cracking from the misuse it had suffered this night.

"He's unconscious. The poacher got him, Sirius. Moony's been stabbed!" Peter honestly didn't think Sirius could look worse, but for a moment he thought Sirius was going to throw up all over the floor. 

Sirius raced up the stairs, two at a time, and peered in the room at their wolfish friend. "Oh my God," breathed Sirius, trading a horrified glance with Peter. "We have to get James!"

The two raced back downstairs, both ignoring the last two steps, both landing badly on their injured legs. They both staggered but ignored the pain, heading straight for the exit to the Whomping Willow. They paused a moment and listened; after a moment they heard Prongs' feet stamping impatiently in the earth. They were considering triggering the tree when they heard a grunt and the door opened. James staggered in and gaped at them in shock.

"How is he?" asked Sirius, panting much like the dog he'd been moments before.

"The poacher?" asked James incredulously. "I gored his arse as he ran for it!"

Peter sagged against the stone wall. "I don't think he got bit, Sirius. I don't think he got bit." Peter chanted the phrase over and over. James stared at him in horror.

"How'd the berk get in here?" he demanded.

"No idea. We got Moony in, he was still pissed off as hell," explained Sirius, sliding down his side of the wall to sit. "Just as he was starting to calm down, this guy just appears in the doorway, grinning maniacally. I can't...I can't talk about it right now. Prongs...James, Moony, he's..."

"The guy stabbed him or something!" burst out Peter, launching to his feet once more. The boys raced back down the tunnel into the shack as fast as they could in the awkward space. 

The place was wrecked. James paused only long enough to note the blood trail Moony had left as he had retreated upstairs. James pounded up them with Peter and Sirius right behind but skidded to a halt before he reached the bedroom. Peter almost ran into him. "Shit! We're human!"

"He's dead to the world, mate," Sirius said, brushing past him and into the room. "I don't think even transforming back into Remus is going to wake him up."

On Moony's leg was a huge tear, blooding seeping from it, but not copiously, as if something was magically coagulating the blood.

"That sonuvabitch," swore James, collapsing next to his wolfish friend. 

"You sure he was a poacher?" asked Peter tiredly, sitting next to James, sweat beading his brow despite the relative cool of the room. He knew the man had to be but wanted to make certain.

"What else could he be?" asked James.

"Dinner," was Sirius' morbid reply. They all shuddered.


	7. A Grim Account

Sirius loved the nights of a full moon. A natural thrill seeker, he enjoyed the intrigue, secrets and danger inherent with running around with a werewolf. It had been his idea for he, James and Peter to become animagi so they could be with their friend, Remus, during the difficult hours that the other boy was a monster. He had lobbied hard to overcome his friends' initial reservations in learning such complicated magic but it had all be so worth it!

As he, James and Peter worked their way to the Whomping Willow, Sirius reflected that the challenge of the situation surrounding their full moon forays was seductive. There had already been a couple of tense moments in controlling Moony's desire to hunt human prey, but Remus was thankfully ignorant of it. In fact, Sirius doubted James and Peter truly understand how bone-deep those hunting urges were to Remus in his wolf form of Moony.

Sirius understood though. The moment he became his large black dog form he understood the thrill of hunting, the desire to make a kill, and the need to chase. It was strong and instinctive; it was a sensation foreign to animals like Prongs and Wormtail but not to Padfoot. He doubted his desire for the hunt was as intense as it was for Moony but it was strong for him nonetheless. The need was something Sirius strived to constantly keep in check as it started to manipulate his non-Padfoot personality as well.

To James and Peter, their time beneath the full moon with Moony was a dangerous lark inspired by the bonds of friendship. To Sirius it was more than that. It was a personal test to push his limits and find just how far he could go with his abilities. Competitive by nature, and aggressive, these jaunts as Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs filled a void in Sirius' life that he had not known of until the solution had been presented to him. Sirius was Padfoot and Padfoot was Sirius. There now could not be one without the other. Running with Remus in his wolf form quelled the constant restless energy that churned deep inside Sirius.

The trio reached their destination and Sirius waited until Peter changed into Wormtail before initiating his own transformation. He didn't know why but becoming Padfoot was ridiculously easy once he'd mastered the process. Four large black paws hit the earth and he flumped to the ground. His skin crawled a moment and he indulged in a quick ear scratch while Wormtail scurried around to acclimate to his form. Moments later James completed his own stag alteration and the three friends were ready for a night of adventure.

Wormtail triggered and entered the Marauders' private entrance into the Shrieking Shack. Padfoot followed him into the long tunnel. His claws clicked on stone and gravel as he moved, following the dim outline of Wormtail's smaller body. In the distance the dog's keen hearing picked up the anguished moans of Remus caught in the grip of his metamorphosis.

They were earlier than they thought. Padfoot sat down at roughly the halfway point to wait while Wormtail continued on to retrieve Moony. As he waited Sirius paced, stretched, and limbered up his unfamiliar musculature, reveling in the feel of the dog's powerful body. He marveled at how comfortable he was, how _right_ it felt.

It was sometime before he heard Wormtail returning with Moony eagerly in tow. Padfoot occupied his time by scratching various itchy body parts, rolling around in the dirt and trying to identify the myriad of smells and sounds around him. He figured the more "animal" he could comprehend, the more prepared he would be for an emergency.

These thoughts and ideas were never anything he had discussed with James, Peter and Remus. The less Remus knew, usually, the happier he seemed to be. Sirius for some reason did not feel comfortable telling his best friends that he felt more aggressive since becoming animagi. All his excuses for having his alternate form he hoped would have great value in the future. The world outside their school walls was no longer a safe place and Sirius was starting to consider himself a soldier in a coming war.

All these thoughts drifted away as Moony bound cheerfully toward him, his tail wagging an enthusiastic greeting. Padfoot managed a welcoming 'woof!' before Moony began sniffing him all over, cataloging Padfoot's scents and places he'd been. A moment later Padfoot allows the slightly larger canid to tumble him to a crouch to bite and chew lightly on his neck.

Padfoot submitted, knowing the wolf's very nature meant it had to dominate but in order to maintain an equalizing relationship as one of Moony's bodyguards, Padfoot asserted himself as well. It would do no good if Moony thought he completely controlled them all. Padfoot more than the others had to be able to assert himself and be able to stand up to the werewolf's more dominate self. The black dog's human self knew that the group dynamics between the four were skewed; he wasn't sure why Moony accepted them all as his comrades but they all took advantage of the situation all the same.

Soon enough Wormtail lead a very playful Moony toward the exit and Padfoot took a deep sniff in the direction of the Shack before following. No one was back there to know Moony was not where he was supposed to be. Good.

By the time Padfoot cleared the exit and the opening was shut tight behind them, Moony was engaged in greeting Prongs. James' form had startled them all when he'd achieved his animagus form one evening in their dormitory rooms. No one, especially Remus, had been altogether thrilled with it. Peter's rat, Sirius remembered arguing in alarm, at least could hide in places the wolf would have trouble getting into. His own dog form had a fighting chance. A stag, though, was dinner no matter what way you looked at it. James, still in his cervine form, had promptly lifted his back leg and delivered a powerful kick into Sirius' dresser, almost crushing it. Prongs, they discovered, was not the average stag and was very tough. To everyone's relief, Moony accepted Prongs with no problem whatsoever.

While Moony continued acting silly around the stag, who watched him almost haughtily, Padfoot laid down in the cool grass. It was unseasonably warm and the fur coat made it almost unbearable. He was getting ready to roll onto his back for a good scratch when he caught a distinctive gleam in Moony's eyes as the amber orbs swing his way. He growled in playful anticipation.

Fight!

Wolf and dog met in mid-air and fell to the ground with a thud! that would have caused pain to any normal animal. With playful growls and taunting snarls, Padfoot and Moony wrestled and pawed at each other. Padfoot loved these fights. It was primal, instinctive and educational. This play taught him how to fight and defend in this form. It also taught him Moony's moves, weaknesses and strengths. The black dog knew he had to be ready should anything, heaven forbid, go wrong on their evening jaunts.

That it was fun was an added bonus.

He was happily chewing on Moony's left hind leg when he noticed Prongs moving for the forest's edge with Wormtail hitching ride on his long back. The dog managed to extricate himself from the tangle of limbs to follow, Moony panting contentedly at his side. It took the canine only a few moments to realize they were heading in a direction they hadn't been before. Ah, Prongs was in a mood to explore a bit tonight. Padfoot gave a mental shrug. That was fine with him. The Forbidden Forest had a host of things that were exotic, interesting, unknown and exciting. 

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs were racing through the forest at an exhilaratingly break-neck speed. They leaped fallen trees, branches and shrubs in their path. They veered under and over strange objects that Padfoot couldn't identify; his senses were on overload. Smells, sounds, and sights were difficult to discern as they whipped by, yet all the more tantalizing. Padfoot wanted to know it all.

So intent on the world around him was he that Padfoot was startled when Moony lurched to a halt for the briefest second, gave a snarling howl that made the hunter's blood within Padfoot pound, and tore into the darkness. Realizing that Moony was after something sparked his interest and he quickly gave chase. He could hear Prongs coming fast behind him. It was only as he gained ground on Moony that he understood what was happening. Moony smelled a human! 

Padfoot burst on the speed, catching the wolf just as he hit the tiny clearing where the human, a man, was camped. The great black dog had no time to survey the scene. Moony was the immediate danger and had to be distracted. Snarling, Padfoot gathered and launched himself at the wolf, hitting the other broadside in mid-air as the wolf attempted to attack his victim. The two canids began rolling in the air and continued to do so for a couple rotations once they'd hit the ground.

_Keep Moony at bay, keep Moony at bay._ The phrase chanted through Padfoot's mind over and over as he placed himself in a highly dangerous location, between the werewolf and the man. He snapped and barked at the wolf as time and again Moony attempted to get past him to the man just beyond.

_Keep Moony at bay._

A mad rage Padfoot had never seen before burned hot in the wolf's amber eyes. Padfoot sensed the need to rend, to tear and to kill emanating off the wolf like a strong musk. The dog was only vaguely aware that Prong and Wormtail were there and engaged somehow with the man.

_Keep Moony at bay._

Moony slipped past him and Padfoot downed him quickly, teeth sinking harshly into the wolf's thick ruff. The wolf shook his heavy head, attempting to dislodge the smaller dog, to no avail. Padfoot increased his grip and rolled to fling his friend away. Moony rolled and came at him. The two reared, front paws clawing at each other.

Moony's frustration at Padfoot's actions mounted with each blow and bite he delivered and received. His confusion and anger at his companion's refusal to let him at his prey began to overwhelm the need to kill the human. Padfoot bit hard on the wolf's snout, causing the other to howl and go into a maddened frenzy. Sensing his opportunity to get Moony away, Padfoot turned tail and _ran_.

To his relief, Moony followed.

The "keep Moony at bay" litany quickly turned into "keep Moony mad enough at me that he'll keep following". To antagonize and taunt the wolf chasing him, Padfoot would occasionally bark or go around a tree to attack his chaser before rushing off once again. At first, Padfoot's only goal was to lead Moony from the human. As his legs flew across the ground, Padfoot began to slowly work his way out of the forest, subtly guiding Moony to safety. Once Moony caught up to him, catching the black dog's left hind leg in a vise-like grip. Padfoot yipped in surprised pain and Moony let go. The two engaged in a minor tussle; Padfoot thought he caught sight of Prongs in his periphery vision before he darted off once more with Moony right behind him.

The pain from his leg was intense but he didn't think Moony had broken skin. Likely it was a sprain but it hurt like the devil. Padfoot did not let it deter him; Moony's safety was all-important. As they ran, Padfoot could tell that the heat of Moony's human encounter was seeping from the wolf. Moony's rage at Padfoot's treatment of him was fading as well but he was still bad tempered by the time they reached the forest's edge.

The closest entrance to the shack was the Whomping Willow. Somehow Wormtail was there and waiting. The little rodent triggered the door and Padfoot crowded Moony into the tunnel and down to the Shack.

Moony was still seething with frustration when the three animals reached the living area of the Shack. When Padfoot wandered too close, Moony snapped and snarled peevishly at him, so the dog kept his distance. He worried about Wormtail's pronounced limp and the fact that he knew nothing of Prongs' fate. As luck would have it, the nightmare they'd been living thus far turned hellish in an instant.

Moony's peevish grumbles turned back into maddened snarls. Padfoot looked back the way they came just as Wormtail gave a dismayed squeak. The man was standing in the entryway, a distinctive predatory look on his scraggly, scratched face. In one hand he carried a wicked looking knife with a serrated blade. It flashed silvery in the dim light from the grimy windows.

In that instant, as Moony's body soared past him, that Padfoot understood this was not an innocent human. The aggressive personality of the hound within Padfoot recognized another hunter. He also recognized that this human hunter was after Moony. Heedless of his surroundings and knowing that the danger was now double, Padfoot accidentally ran Wormtail over as he sought to again get between man and wolf.

It was difficult to keep himself in harm's way on two fronts. The man kicked out, there was a small thump and Wormtail made a weak sound Padfoot couldn't even describe. Wormtail was down. The man was in here, so possibly Prongs was down. It was up to him now. Snarling, releasing his own controlled rage, Padfoot latched viciously onto Moony's throat under his chin, trying desperately to keep his body where the poacher couldn't hit Moony but Moony couldn't get to the poacher. He didn't have a plan, other than to keep Moony out of the path of that dagger.

There was a silvery flash and a metallic hiss again skin. Moony's yelp of pain vibrated against Padfoot's tongue where it was buried in wolf fur. The wolf wrenched free and staggered. Padfoot reared up, gave the wolf a mighty shove out of the way and turned on the man. With luck he could drag the idiot out of the shack and far enough into the tunnel before Moony recovered.

The man, however, had other ideas. He started toward Moony but Padfoot grabbed his wrist and began to drag him away. He dodged swipes of the knife and sank his teeth in deeper, feeling the blood pour into his mouth as his teeth sank into flesh and veins. The man made no sounds except grunts, staggering back as Padfoot drug him. Finally the man realized it was a lost cause and went of his own accord. Padfoot snapped and nipped until the man was well on his way out. He followed a short distance but turned around to the Shack, collapsing in an exhausted heap on the floor. His whole body ached.

"Sirius!" came a hiss from above. The dog looked up with patent shock and transformed into his own human shape.

"Are you _insane_?" Sirius demanded, his throat hoarse and cracking from the misuse it had suffered this night.

"He's unconscious. The poacher got him, Sirius. Moony's been stabbed!" Peter worried his bottom lip, a gesture that meant he was terrified.

Sirius felt like the world dropped out from beneath him. He raced up the stairs, two at a time, and peered in the room at their wolfish friend. "Oh my God," breathed Sirius, trading a horrified glance with Peter. "We have to get James!"

The two raced back downstairs, both ignoring the last two steps, both landing badly on their injured legs. They both staggered but ignored the pain, heading straight for the exit to the Whomping Willow. They paused a moment and listened; after a moment they heard Prongs' feet stamping impatiently in the earth. They were considering triggering the tree when they heard a grunt and the door opened. James staggered in and gaped at them in shock.

"How is he?" asked Sirius, panting much like the dog he'd been moments before.

"The poacher?" asked James incredulously, as if unable to believe that Sirius was concerned about the man. "I gored his arse as he ran for it!"

Peter sagged against the stone wall. "I don't think he got bit, Sirius. I don't think he got bit." Peter chanted the phrase over and over. 

James stared at him in horror. "How'd the berk get in here?" he demanded.

"No idea. We got Moony in, he was still pissed off as hell," explained Sirius, sliding down his side of the wall to sit. "Just as he was starting to calm down, this guy just appears in the doorway, grinning maniacally. I can't...I can't talk about it right now. Prongs...James, Moony, he's..."

"The guy stabbed him or something!" burst out Peter, launching to his feet once more. The boys raced back down the tunnel into the shack as fast as they could in the awkward space. 

The place was wrecked, Sirius noted. James paused only long enough to note the blood trail Moony had left as he had retreated upstairs. James pounded up them with Peter and Sirius right behind but skidded to a halt before he reached the bedroom. Peter almost ran into him. "Shit! We're human!"

"He's dead to the world, mate," Sirius said, brushing past him and into the room. "I don't think even transforming back into Remus is going to wake him up."

On Moony's leg was a huge tear, blooding seeping from it, but not copiously, as if something was magically coagulating the blood.

"That sonuvabitch," swore James, collapsing next to his wolfish friend. 

"You sure he was a poacher?" asked Peter tiredly, sitting next to James, sweat beading his brow despite the relative cool of the room. He knew the man had to be but wanted to make certain.

"What else could he be?" asked James.

"Dinner," was Sirius' morbid reply. They all shuddered.


	8. The Sounding of Parley

The boys, finished their reminiscing, sat on their beds looking anywhere except at each other. It was awkward, knowing that their behavior resulted in a friend's injury. Worse, they had done all they could to protect him under the circumstances, yet knowing that it could have been avoided all together was a hard pill to swallow. It was still their fault and the knowledge that they would make their full moon runs once again if Remus lived weighed their guilt even more. They relished their freedom at perhaps too high a price.

"So," James said finally, his voice small in the oppressive silence.

Peter coughed.

Sirius nodded absently. "Maybe we should go back to the poacher's camp?"

James and Peter considered this for a moment. "Or the village," suggested Peter. "He was injured after all. He'll need medical attention." They nodded again, still not making eye contact.

"D'you think Remus will be okay?" Sirius asked anxiously after another long draw of quiet.

Peter could only shake his head in a lost manner as James replied forlornly, "I don't know."

* * *

Remus was feeling _very_ good. Whatever Madam Pomfrey gave him after dinner made him very loopy. He giggled at the thought that he was 'loopy Lupin' just as Peeves liked to cackle and singsong. The medication relaxed him significantly; the pain was gone except for twinges in his leg and now his hip.

Three heads poked through the infirmary door to peer at him. Remus gave them a goofy grin and beckoned his three friends forward. 'Hey, guys!" he called out fuzzily. The other three Marauders exchanged confused glances but did as they were bid. Peter gave a wave and a timid smile but James and Sirius watched him with grave features.

"How're you feeling, Remus?" asked James hesitantly, sitting in a chair next to the bed.

"Silly," Remus informed them with a huge out-of-character grin.

Sirius blinked in surprise. "Are you feeling better then? Madam Pomfrey found a cure?" He gestured at Remus' leg, his tone hopeful.

Remus' goofy countenance melted away, quickly replaced by a sullenness that forcefully put the other three in mind of Severus Snape in a bad mood. "What do you care?" he snapped in an abrupt about-face of temperament.

"Remus," pleaded Sirius, "we're gonna help."

"Yeah!" chimed in Peter from his position at the foot of the bed.

"So you're going to tell Dumbledore about what happened?" demanded Remus. He felt dizzy and moody now, his previous euphoria gone completely.

"Do you remember -" began James but Remus cut him off angrily.

"I _never_ remember, you know that!" James held his hands out placatingly.

"Don't worry, mate." Sirius infused his voice with self-confidence and assurance he did not feel in an attempt to calm his friend. "We've got it covered. You'll be better in no time!" James and Peter looked less certain than Sirius but nodded encouragingly. Remus looked rightly skeptical.

"I'm here for a couple days more," he told them waspishly, plucking at his covers. "But I still have to sleep here. I can only go to classes, meals and the library."

James frowned but said nothing.

"Right," acknowledged Sirius, slapping his knee and getting up from his perch on the arm of James' chair. "Well, we'll let you rest then, shall we?"

"See you tomorrow?" asked Peter hopefully.

Remus turned away and did not reply. He was asleep by the time they left the room. Madam Pomfrey watched the whole exchange, unknown to the boys, with a considerable concern.

* * *

The next two days flew quickly for James, Peter and Sirius. It was a haze of classes they paid little attention to and evenings spent with their heads together making plans, both plausible and half-baked, to get the culprit to Remus' injury. It was decided that the best thing they could was locate the poacher, which would hopefully be followed by someone like Dumbledore apprehending him. This created an argument over how best to ascertain the poacher's location.

"We should check his campsite," insisted James the night before Remus was due to appear in the Great Hall.

"He probably went to St. Mungo's or something," argued Sirius, doodling absently on some scrap parchment. "Probably won't be back around here until nearer the full moon," he added depressively.

"He might be in Hogsmeade," countered Peter. "He can get medical attention there and can get an inn room at The Three Broomsticks."

"He'd go back to the forest," James said stubbornly. "Plenty of other things to hunt beside werewolves that will fetch a nice price on the black market trade."

Sirius, chewing on his inner cheek, finally struck on a compromise as Peter and James squared off with mutinous expressions. "We'll check Hogsmeade first. See if he at least got his injuries taken care of. Might catch his name as well. We'll either go to the forest if not, or if we find him at the village, we'll work out a plan from there."

James and Peter reluctantly agreed.

The next morning Remus was to be restrictively released from the hospital wing. Professor Dumbledore caught the Marauders before they entered the Great Hall for breakfast. The old gentleman's blue eyes were grave with concern as he pulled them from a crowd of fellow Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs yawning themselves awake.

"Good morning, gentlemen." They mumbled an awkward greeting, not quite awake themselves. "I need to speak with you about Mister Lupin. You are aware that he is released today to attend classes and meals only, correct?" They nodded, wide-eyed. "Due to the nature of his injury, Madam Pomfrey and I have placed him on crutches."

"On what?" Sirius wrinkled his nose at the unfamiliar term.

"They will aid him in his walking so he will place no weight on his leg. Surrogate legs, I guess you could call them." For a moment the trademark Dumbledore twinkle appeared in those blue eyes but it was fleeting. "He will need help carrying his things and his movement will be greatly restricted and slow. I understand that neither of you boys takes Ancient Runes, whereas Mister Lupin does. Therefore, I have asked Miss Evans if she would help him there and she has kindly agreed to do so."

The boys shuffled their feet and nodded obediently.

"We were going to allow him library time, as well as limited outdoor privileges but his leg is still not as healed as we had hoped. Therefore, I request that you help him as much as possible, especially for any homework he needs accomplished using the library's resources," Dumbledore continued, staring hard at them as if trying to read their minds. "No pranks, no goofing around him, and do not tire him more than he will be on his own, if you please." Dumbledore paused the briefest of moments. "Have you given any further thought to how Mister Lupin could have sustained his injury?"

The three Gryffindors were caught in Dumbledore's gaze like field mice confronted by a hawk; they were unable to move or speak. Dumbledore seemed to take their silence as a negative response and sighed heavily. "If what we suspect is true, boys," Dumbledore told them, lowering his voice significantly, "Remus is in dreadful danger. The procedure to verify our suspicions is painful in the extreme. I would rather not have Madam Pomfrey perform the procedure unless our suspicions are either confirmed or we can wait no longer. So I stress that _anything_ you can think of will be of the greatest importance, no matter how minutiae it seems to you. If we wait too long, Mister Lupin could very well die."

For a moment Dumbledore thought the three young men before him were going to pass out then and there but they seemed to rally. No looks were exchanged as before. Dumbledore presumed they had discussed the situation enough to know where each stood in the matter. Dumbledore's suppositions were verified when Sirius spoke up gravely, "We don't know anything, sir." Dumbledore privately doubted this statement but nodded all the same before wordlessly waving them into the Great Hall before him.

When the boys entered the Great Hall they immediately spotted Remus at the Gryffindor table. Lily Evans, a vivacious red-haired Muggle-born witch, sat next to him, chattering brightly and gesturing broadly at the two wooden objects leaning against the bench next to the young werewolf. As the three approached, they heard the tail-end of Lily's words.

"I've already spoken to Severus. I made him promise to leave you alone, but he made it reluctantly, I'll admit," she said as James sat gingerly next to Remus. Peter and Sirius sat across from him.

"What about old Snivellus? asked Sirius, reaching for toast as he spoke.

Lily gave Sirius a distinctly cold look but ignored him otherwise. "Severus said they won't bother you, Remus, but I doubt they'll be all that helpful either." Remus gave a tired shrug. "I'll make copies of all my notes for you. You should have no problems catching up."

"Thank you, Lily." Remus' voice was low and strained.

She gave him another bright smile, glared almost hatefully at Sirius before turning to her own breakfast. James opened his mouth to say something but changed his mind, concentrating on filling his plate instead.

"You need anything?" asked Peter solicitously.

"My bag," Remus replied dully. He pushed around his eggs with little enthusiasm. His brown eyes were lackluster and sunken, his cheeks were hollow and his lips were white with suppressed pain. His whole demeanor exuded great physical discomfort.

"No problem, mate," Sirius reassured Remus. "I'll run upstairs and get it." He snagged some bacon, slapped it on his toast and shuffled off as promised.

The rest of the meal was quiet, with conversation confined to passing food or coaxing Remus to eat a bit more. When it was time to head for their classes, Remus fumbled with his crutches as he maneuvered off the bench. Muggle-born students and half-bloods who had seen crutches before kindly kept out of Remus' path, offering sympathetic smiles or encouraging nods. Only Severus Snape seemed to have something to say, walking up to Lily, who hovered behind Remus in mother-hen fashion.

"Lupin." Remus stopped but due to the awkwardness of his crutches was unable to face Snape squarely. Head turned to face the Slytherin friend of Lily, Remus raised his eyebrows in an inquiring manner. "If any Slytherin gives you, or your friends helping you, any trouble, tell Lily. She'll tell me and I'll take care of it."

"Why?" Remus' expression was just as inscrutable as Snape's. Those around them waited for the answer with baited breath. The situation was unprecedented as far as anyone knew.

"I know how they feel." Snape gestured to the wooden objects in Remus' hands. Lily grimaced, obviously aware of the circumstances of when Snape had required crutches, but said nothing.

"If my friends bother you or instigate anything during this truce," Remus replied with a polite nod in the Slytherin's direction, "tell me direct and, I promise you, I'll more than handle it." James and Peter tensed, sensing that if either they or Sirius strayed from this truce, Remus' vengeance would be hell indeed.

Snape nodded curtly then leaned down to whisper something to Lily right before she smacked a kiss on his sallow cheek. James turned an angry shade of red but wisely kept his mouth closed. 

"Thank you, Sev," she said quietly to the other boy, who nodded in haughty dismissal that caused Lily to smirk at him.

The deal was struck and no one who witnessed it doubted the sincerity or ability of either party in keeping their word. The unprecedented Gryffindor-Slytherin Truce began.


	9. Get a Clue

News of the truce between Severus Snape and Remus Lupin spread like wildfire. Gryffindors and Slytherins who were unhappy that their rivalry was temporarily on hold soon discovered that their House peers' retaliation was swift and ruthless. Sirius and his young Slytherin brother Regulus had particular trouble. School was the only forum that Sirius could torment his sibling without parental reprisals. Sirius managed to control himself until right before lunch. Regulus, also unable to control himself, made a snide remark and Sirius jinxed him as usual. Unfortunately for the Black brothers, both Remus and Snape were witnesses to their break in hostilities. Regulus was taken to the hospital wing to remove his orange hair and boils while Sirius had to eat his lunch standing up.

Things were relatively quiet between the two houses after that.

* * *

Keeping up with their plans, class work and helping Remus was an enormous strain the werewolf's friends. There was little complaint to be heard, however, and their nights, after Remus retired to the infirmary, were spent plotting how they were going to search Hogsmeade. James reluctantly agreed that Prongs would remain behind. A stag wandering through the village would not be all that inconspicuous. He grudgingly agreed to remain behind to keep Remus occupied while the other two were off searching.

Friday evening Sirius and Peter took the passageway behind the statue of the humpback witch to the basement of Honeydukes. There Peter transformed into Wormtail and scouted around to make sure Sirius had a clear path outside. Once Sirius slipped out of the candy-filled shop, he became Padfoot. The plan was simple. Wormtail would get inside The Three Broomsticks to search for the poacher while Padfoot searched the village outside. If neither had any luck, they would repeat the exercise again the next evening, with Wormtail in The Hog's Head and Padfoot searching the edge of the forest.

The Three Broomsticks was fairly busy so Wormtail had little trouble slipping into the building. He scurried between legs and darted under tables, chairs and other obstacles, pausing to listen to various conversations for word of his quarry. Table to table, conversation to conversation, Wormtail listened and learned. While he heard nothing about an injured man, he did learn a lot of local gossip. Dismissing the downstairs as a lost cause, Wormtail headed for the staircase. Here he was presented with a slight problem.

For a human, the stairs were cramped but limited in number. For a rat, it was a long way up. It took a lot of effort but Wormtail made it up the flight of stairs to the dark hall that led to the inn rooms. The sounds of customers talking and glasses clinking were muffled. With less noise bombarding his sensitive hearing, the rat began to investigate the upstairs.

The first two rooms were empty and the third had a baby in it, from the crying that Wormtail heard. Light, even breathing with an occasional grunt and rustling of cloth told the rat that the fourth room was at least occupied but he had no way of knowing by whom. He discerned no sounds from the rest of the rooms and, dejected by his failure, he skittered down the stairs unseen by any humans. 

Wormtail maintained his alertness as he made his way to the door. Waiting for his chance to escape the confines of the building, Wormtail slipped out when the door opened for a particularly giggly witch and amorous wizard. He made his way back to Honeydukes to await Padfoot, making only one detour when he spotted an orange tabby cat slinking along the boardwalk. Yet when he arrived he discovered Padfoot still had not returned.

* * *

Padfoot left Honeydukes at a trot, his nose still twitching from the rich smells from the candy store. He made sure Wormtail reached The Three Broomsticks before continuing on his own. It wasn't until he'd traveled down the second side street that Padfoot realized he had no idea what to do. After pondering moment, the big black dog put his nose to the ground and began to follow smells. It was possible, if not probable, that he'd pick up the poacher's scent. He followed scent trail after scent trail to residences, businesses and the train station. None led to the forest or the Shrieking Shack.

With a distinctly doggy huff of exasperation, Padfoot flopped down on the corner of the street leading to The Hog's Head tavern. To his dismay, the tall, thin form of Hogwart's headmaster came toward him, long beard gleaming in the moonlight. Apprehensively, Padfoot watched as the old man paused, looked down at him and smiled.

"Why, hello there, my boy!" greeted Dumbledore, holding a hand out. 

For a second Padfoot had no idea why the man did this until it dawned on him he was supposed to sniff it. He obliged and threw in a tail wag for good measure. Dumbledore scratched his ears in reward. The tail wag became more pronounced; the scratching felt good. "I hope you don't belong to the poor man who was mauled the other day." Padfoot's jaw would have dropped open if he'd been in his human form. Dumbledore did not notice the animal's surprise; instead his hands roamed firmly yet gently over the dog's body as if looking for something. "No injuries, I see," Dumbledore told him. "From the looks of you, my fine fellow, you are in good health. No collar." Dumbledore frowned, as if this vexed him. "A shame such a fine specimen of doghood is a stray, but alas some of us are just free spirits, eh boy?"

Padfoot managed to wag his tail a little harder but in truth he was still reeling from the discovery that Dumbledore, of all people, knew of the poacher and had no idea the significance of that knowledge. When Dumbledore started to walk away, Padfoot jolted out of his stupor and gave a hopeful woof, causing the old gentleman to turn to him and chuckle. "Why not? I'm sure I could talk that brother of mine into giving you a meal. Come along, boy!"

Unable to believe his luck, the black dog followed the respected wizard right through the front door of The Hog's Head. Of course, Padfoot had been here before, just not as a dog. The limited spectrum of his dog vision did not alleviate the dinginess of the inn's interior but it did give Padfoot a new perspective on a place he'd previously dismissed as a dive. He also detected smells and sounds that in human form he would not have noticed. His toenails clicked on the wooden floorboards as he followed the headmaster in faithful canine fashion.

There was movement in Padfoot's periphery and he turned in time to see the old barkeep emerge from a back room. "Albus," growled the grizzled bartender.

"Good evening, Aberforth," Dumbledore returned heavily. "I was wondering if I could have a goblet of that excellent vintage I bought you for Christmas last year. I find I'm in need of it." Dumbledore's long fingered hand rested lightly on Padfoot's head, scratching gently. "And it seems I have made a new friend that might enjoy any leftovers you may have."

Aberforth scowled a moment but shrugged indifferently as he disappeared in the back once more, emerging with a tray that contained a large bowl with a delicious smell coming from it, two shiny crystal goblets and a very dusty wine bottle. Instead of returning behind the bar, the barkeep joined Dumbledore at one of the less grimier tables. The two men watched as the dog wolfed down the bowlful of food. It was quite delicious, Padfoot decided.

"No luck, I take it?" grunted Aberforth as he poured the wine.

"No luck," sighed Dumbledore. "All these brains I have and they are of no use."

"Well," smirked Aberforth in a manner that forcefully reminded Padfoot of Regulus smirking at him, "you know I've never thought much of your brains." The two brothers shared a look, not entirely friendly, that Padfoot could not decipher. "What about that idiot upstairs?" Aberforth jerked his head in an upward movement to indicate the inn rooms.

"Has he shown signs of contamination?" asked the headmaster interestedly.

Aberforth shook his head. "Not even a rare bit of meat." The two fell silent once more, sipping their fine wine and lost in thought. Padfoot lay down to listen and wait.

"When do you think..." Aberforth's question trailed off but Dumbledore seemed to understand what was unspoken.

"At least another two weeks, but no more than that. Ideally less."

Aberforth leaned forward in an urgent manner. "Either do it now or take the boy to St. Mungo's, Albus. The boy is going to be in pain no matter what if your suspicions are true, which they usually, irritatingly are. You've nothing to lose."

"And if I'm wrong?"

"Then the boy dies anyway. If you let him die or take him to St. Mungo's, the result will be the same. Either way, you think you were humiliated by my goat incident?"

"That's rather cold for you, isn't it?" commented Dumbledore with an impassive face but Padfoot could feel the anger radiating off him.

"I learned indifference for my fellow man from my brother," snapped Aberforth, slamming his goblet down and shattering the delicate stem. "We sacrificed, the whole family, for you and your lauded brains. Look where that got us. Now you'll risk this boy's life because you're not certain? The possibility of you saving him now is greater than it will be in another week."

Dumbledore rose from the table in an angry movement and strode to the door. The man Padfoot belatedly realized must be the headmaster's brother was not finished, however. He had one last parting shot. "How many people have to die just so you can prove how smart you are, you pompous ass?"

The door slammed hard behind Albus Dumbledore. Aberforth slumped in his seat, looked down at the dog with a scowl and said, "I could have handled that better, I suppose, but to hell with him." Padfoot was uncertain how to respond so he merely walked to the door and woofed at it. "On his side, are ya? So damned smart you're both lacking in sense."

With the door of The Hog's Head closed behind him, Padfoot ran to Honeydukes, where he discovered Wormtail waiting impatiently on him. Dog and rat could not wait to get back to their human forms; they had a lot to discuss.


	10. Instability of His Breed

Remus marked time through the administration of his pain-relieving potion. Anything beyond that was blurry or vague. The throbbing dull pain in his leg and hip slowly began to affect his entire body. It wasn't until he lost track of entire conversations, classes, or meals that he truly began to worry about his future, or lack thereof.

Since the age of six Remus had been a werewolf. It was simply a fact of his life, much like being a wizard, a boy, or his eyes being brown. He could remember little of his life without knowing that deep within himself there was a monster waiting for its monthly release during the full moon. The dangers of a shortened lifespan, poisons in common everyday items such as silverware or shrubbery, and prejudice derived from fear was a fact of life; no less fair but still something to be acknowledged and accepted. Remus and his parents held no hope for a better future for him than hundreds of other werewolves.

Until Albus Dumbledore walked through their front door.

Now Remus could not help but feel that his current predicament wasn't his friends' fault entirely but his own and Dumbledore's as well. Certainly James, Sirius and Peter weren't exempt but they did not bear the sole responsibility. As Remus slowly got out of bed his last morning of lucidity and began dressing, he'd decided that he'd had enough. 

The pain could no longer be contained; he was in constant misery and no longer had the energy to go on. He couldn't concentrate, lost all concept of time, had trouble speaking clearly and his body was harder to control and move. His fatigued, potion-fuzzy mind, and irrational fears began to take over his waning logic.

This was all Dumbledore's fault. Unreasonable anger welled inside the normally placid boy. If Dumbledore hadn't brought him to Hogwarts, this wouldn't have happened. If Dumbledore hadn't insisted that Remus could cope with some elementary precautions, Remus wouldn't be sick. If Dumbledore hadn't told him that he could live a fairly normal life and have friends, Remus wouldn't have met three of the most reckless humans on the planet.

Anger, frustration and pain submerged what little reason Remus had left. He began to throw a tantrum, banging against the furniture, clawing at his clothes and ripping his fingernails through his skin. He began to howl unintelligibly at the pain he caused himself and snarled in his animalistic rage.

"Mister Lupin!" He dimly heard and recognized the alarmed voice of Madam Pomfrey. "No, Remus!" Firm hands gripped his wrists and he flailed out defensively. There was a muted 'oof!' and then he couldn't move anymore. It was as if rope had twined itself around his body. 

In his confused and unstable state, Remus felt threatened and reacted accordingly. His animal instincts made him begin fighting, contorting and writhing to escape his prison. His hearing vaguely caught the sound of the school nurse running to her office, heard her return and the soothing words she uttered as she attempted to calm his frantic motions.

"Poppy?"

Remus reacted to the voice and smell of Albus Dumbledore as an animal would it's tormentor the instant the old wizard entered the infirmary. The body bind charm released somehow and he attacked, both physically and verbally. Remus landed on Dumbledore in a flurry of fists and kicks as the two fell hard to the floor. Dumbledore's wand skittered across the tiled floor.

"It's your fault!" Remus shouted, rage lent power to his already magnified natural strength, even depleted by his illness. "It's your fault I'm here. It's your fault I'm hurt. It's your fault, it's your fault, it's your fault!" Remus screamed the litany over and over again as he whaled on the older gentleman.

"Poppy!" gasped Dumbledore as he fended off the young werewolf's blows.

Madam Pomfrey raised her wand with a shaking hand and, deep regret etching her face, cast the full body bind on Remus before forcing a strong sedative down the subdued boy's throat. As Remus lie twitching on the floor, his eyes fluttering and breath ragged, the two adults exchanged grim looks.

"I have to do it soon, Albus," Pomfrey told the headmaster. "This is the first sure symptom. He has silver poisoning."

"Do it." Dumbledore's voice was heavy. Madam Pomfrey nodded and swept away to make the necessary, and complicated, preparations. The headmaster levitated the boy's disturbed form back to his bed. He stayed late into the afternoon, making no appearances at meals or his office as he helped Madam Pomfrey prepare and kept a solemn watch over his werewolf charge.

* * *

Barabbas Wolston poached the most unusual creatures of the world most of his adult life. As a squib, it was his form of vengeance on a world that humiliated and rejected him for his lack of magical ability. With each magical creature he hunted, butchered and sold on the black market, he felt as if he were chipping the magical world away, one beast at a time. Soon, if he had his druthers, there would be nothing left.

Right now, though, he felt horrible. His scratches and dog bites healed but he was still mentally out of sorts. Wolston wasn't sure why exactly, but it had something to do with the werewolf's companions. He'd never heard of weredogs or weredeer before; it never occurred to him that the monster's companions could be humans in animagi form. All he knew, basic creature that he was himself, was that he needed to find and destroy the rat, the dog and the stag before the werewolf's reemergence at the next full moon.

Wolston spent his last day in Hogsmeade packing his things and double-checking his supplies. He'd spent precious galleons, something he had little of, on the cheap inn room so he could recover from his injuries in relative comfort. Now that the injuries were healed, Wolston resolved to return to the forest to camp and hunt. After all, there was plenty of profit to be had other than werewolves in the dark forest. Why, just the evening prior to the last full moon two young Acromantula had wandered into his traps. Their parts would fetch a nice price on the Asian potions market. It was indeed a shame, Wolston reflected as he tugged on a strap, that the spiders had been too young to milk for venom. The price for Acromantula venom was exorbitant.

His gear ready, Wolston headed downstairs to settle his bill with the crotchety innkeeper. As he approached the bar, the man gave him a disgusted look that rankled the poacher but Wolston did not let it show. He imagined gutting the old fool; it would teach the man a lesson, thinking he was better than Barabbas Wolston.

"What you know about that old shack at the edge of town?" Wolston asked, slamming the gold galleons down to pay his tab. Might as well fish for information while he was forced to be civilized.

The innkeeper gave him the hairy eyeball, as if considering his answer. "What d'you want to know? It's haunted, abandoned, and falling down. May it fall down around the ears of the pestilential spooks in there." The old coot spat into a spittoon easily older than himself and twice as dirty as Wolston.

Wolston barely contained a snort of disbelief; he obviously knew more than this old fool. Bill settled, the poacher shouldered his packs and turned to the door, only to pause when he thought of something else. "Hogwarts is around 'ere some'ere's right?"

"Somewhere," the old barkeeper answered noncommittally.

Figuring the other man for a squib as well, especially if he had no idea where the school was with it's powerful wards and enchantments, Wolston grunted. He was feeling a bit charitable toward the old man now that he'd, incorrectly of course, deduced the other as a squib like himself.

"Who's the headmaster?" Wolston asked curiously.

The barkeep blinked, taken aback by the question. "Albus Dumbledore," he responded, eyes narrowing.

Wolston shrugged. The name meant nothing to him, he who paid little attention to the human end of the magical world. "Never 'eard of 'im." He dismissed the name and the man who carried it as unimportant and therefore of no immediate interest or danger.

The poacher's response elicited a startled guffaw from the innkeeper, however. "Haven't, have you?" The idea seemed to greatly amuse the old man, which irritated Wolston.

"Sounds like a pompous, useless old fool to me," Wolston snapped, which caused the other man to go into convulsive laughter. 

"T-that h-he is," stuttered he innkeeper, still laughing as the door closed with a bang behind Wolston.

Aberforth Dumbledore caught his breath and ambled to the door to watch his former lodger disappear into the trees. He went to his rooms in the back of the public house, grabbed his cloak and tossed it around his shoulders. Aberforth locked the front door and put a sign in the window that said "Closed, Go Away" before slipping into the alley behind his business to head for Hogwarts in the distance. 

Aberforth had gotten a terse note from his brother this morning, with a comment and a request.

"Brother Mine,

You will be interested to know that we are performing the procedure starting this afternoon. I will be incommunicado. Disturb me only if your lodger leaves your premises. 

Your idiot brother, Albus"

Aberforth decided he could be generous enough to enlighten Albus if his brother could admit to occasional idiocy like any other human being.


	11. Best Laid Plans

James, Peter and Sirius were turned away when they came to fetch Remus for breakfast. By lunch the news that a substitute professor was available for emergencies in the infirmary instead of Madam Pomfrey had kindled rampant speculation. It escaped no one's notice that both Remus and the headmaster were absent. Talk grew more speculative when Remus' father arrived at the school later that afternoon. To Remus' friends all Dumbledore would say when they begged for any news was "Mister Lupin's condition has worsened. We are taking steps."

With grim expressions the three remaining Marauders made no replies to queries regarding Remus' health. By unspoken agreement the temporary truce between the rival houses of Gryffindor and Slytherin remained in effect. As Snape succinctly put it, "It's no fun if they pay no attention."

When everyone was to be abed, a rat went forth from the hole behind the portrait of the Gryffindor's Pink Lady, heading for the hospital wing. Dodging Mrs. Norris and Peeves along the way, Wormtail arrived at his destination only to discover the infirmary deserted. He discerned no sign of Madam Pomfrey or Remus in the vicinity. There was no evidence Remus' father had been there either. Worry mounted and the rat returned to the dormitory to report.

"You think they took him to St. Mungo's?" asked Sirius speculatively.

"Plenty of secret rooms in this old castle," James surmised, tapping a finger against his chin.

"Well," mulled Peter, "there's no one in the infirmary, not even Poncey for his chewed up finger from Herbology this afternoon."

"Damn," sighed Sirius, rubbing the side of his nose in a nervous gesture. "I bet they figured out what's wrong and are trying to cure him. That's got to be kept quiet, otherwise it'd be obvious what Remus is." Peter nodded and James grunted.

James stood up and began to pace. "There's nothing we can do for Remus now," he told his friends. "All we can do is get the berk who did this and make sure he doesn't do it again."

Sirius' grey eyes hardened to the color of steel and he growled, "Let's get the bastard." Peter nodded, his eyes narrowing to slits, teeth clenched. It was now a matter of vengeance.

* * *

Barabbas set up his camp in roughly the same vicinity as before. The entire area was scattered with small meadows. The first night he caught several grindylows in the Black Lake where it formed a tiny cove. He also stumbled across a bowtruckle colony. While common enough in Europe, bowtruckles were rather rare in other parts of the world and Barabbas was not a man to overlook profit anywhere, no matter how minutiae.

Around his camp he set carefully hidden traps should the werewolf's 'friends' come calling. The stag particularly interested Wolston; he'd wracked his brain and his reference book for any idea of what the large cervine could possibly be. He drew a blank each time. The urge to skin the creature and see what made him tick was a strong desire within Wolston, but he contented himself with other creatures at the moment, knowing that it was only a matter of time. Nothing escaped Barabbas unless he let it and that would just be wasted profit.

* * *

Unbeknownst to Wolston and the three Marauders all of their careful planning and tracking would come to not. For three nights in a row, neither party came close to locating the other. Frustration mounted as the full moon approached.

Word of Remus' recovery was as closely a guarded secret as the nature of his illness. Remus' father regularly Flooed or Apparated to the school or Hogsmeade. His continued presence was the only sign James, Peter and Sirius had that Remus was still on the school grounds. Each time they waylaid Professor Minerva McGonagall or, occasionally, Professor Dumbledore, the answer was always the same: "Mr. Lupin's recovery will take time. Please be patient."

Sirius just about had enough of 'be patient' by the start of the week of the full moon. He was restless and argumentative, picking fights with anyone who'd fight back. Regulus was a favorite, more than usual, but Regulus, mindful of Severus Snape in the vicinity, managed to not rise to the bait his older brother regularly laid out.

James was contemplative, constantly scribbling on spare parchment or muttering incoherently under his breath. His scribbles slowly created a map, where in a systematic grid pattern, James laid out the school and it's accompanying grounds, as well as the bits of the forest they had explored.

Peter was merely morose and depressed. Occasionally he would get up the energy to suggest a run after midnight through town, but he went alone and usually came back empty of information. There was no doubt in any of their minds that the poacher, a Barabbas Wolston by name thanks to Peter's reading of the Hog's Head's guest register, was in the forest, waiting on Remus.

Night after night the three Gryffindors left through various tunnels and exits throughout the school, working their way through the forest. Each night they were unsuccessful in finding their quarry. If news of Remus' condition was scarce, the perpetrator of Remus' pain was more so. It was a waiting game, one that grated on their taut nerves.

* * *

The night Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore finished cleansing Remus' flagging body of the silver was one of the most physically exhausting nights of Dumbledore's life. As the purplish hue that surrounded Poppy Pomfrey off and on for 48 hours faded from her, the old headmaster admitted to himself that the woman's capacity for care, healing and determination humbled him greatly. Two hours later when Remus' amber eyes opened and he muttered a weak greeting to his relieved father, Dumbledore resolved buy his brother an entire case of fine vintage for being right. It was obvious now that they hesitated almost too long.

As the two Lupins murmured comfort at each other, Dumbeldore led an exhausted school nurse over to the bed the headmaster conjured specifically for her use in his rooms. The clock on the mantel struck ten o'clock with tingling chimes.

"Well done, Poppy," Dumbledore whispered to her as she sank onto the mattress.

"To us both, Albus," the diminutive woman replied sleepily. He disagreed but didn't argue.

Dumbledore glanced over and found Lupin the younger falling into a healing sleep while his father watched him pensively. Finally the handsome older gentleman came to his feet and made his way to Dumbledore.

The two men stood, neither speaking nor looking away from the sleeping boy. Finally Phineas Lupin spoke.

"It was too close, Albus."

"Yes."

"When he is strong enough I'm taking him home." Lupin's tone was just shy of belligerent.

Dumbledore did not speak for a few minutes, contemplating what to say. "That, Phineas, would be a mistake."

"Oh, would it?" flung back the elder Lupin, his voice still low but no less furious. "Whoever, or whatever, did this to my son is still out there and he knows that on the night of the full moon a werewolf will be in the shack. Are you going to change Remus' sanctuary mere days before the moon? Or are you going to sit in there and hope the perpetrator appears before the werewolf tears you limb from limb?"

"Phineas -" began Dumbledore but the other interrupted.

"You swore there would be no danger, Dumbledore."

"No, I said there was little chance of danger," corrected Dumbledore. "Remus' dual nature excludes the use of the word 'no' in front of 'danger', either to himself or anyone else."

Lupin snorted at that but made no reply to it. Instead he offered an ultimatum. "You have until the evening before the full moon to convince me, Albus. If not, Remus returns home and does not return."

"You'll break his heart."

Lupin glared at Dumbledore. "Perhaps but I know I have no silver to stab him with, nor will I risk his health anymore. One more mistake, Albus, could be the end of his, or someone else's, life."

Dumbledore flinched at the barb, nodded and said, "It is, of course, your decision." Lupin didn't seem to have heard him for he made no response as he sat on the stool next to Remus, holding his son's hand, head bent as if in prayer. "But it would be a wrong one."

Dumbledore sat heavily in his comfortable fireside chair, intent on catching a bit of sleep himself. His gaze occasionally strayed to the Lupins or Poppy as he attempted to relax. The stars gleamed through the fine glass windows. Dumbledore smiled slightly to himself he drifted off to sleep.

He dreamed of his little sister, Ariana. Her beauty and charm was marred only by the degradation of her mind. Sometimes the young woman seemed a child, with all the wonder and curiosity of a child. Even in his pompous preoccupation with "loftier things", Albus was often charmed by Ariana's childlike innocence.

"Look, Albus!" he dreamed her saying. "It's a dragon!" He murmured something appropriate, not really paying attention to anything else as he hungrily drank in the sight of his beloved sister. Tears pricked his eyes as she urgently shook his hand. "Isn't that Hagrid's dragon?" He frowned. How would Ariana know of Hagrid? She tragically died long before Hagrid's birth. "Albus? Albus!" She continued to shake his hand.

Slowly Dumbledore became aware that it wasn't Ariana but Madam Pomfrey jostling and talking to him. "Albus!"

He awoke clear-headed but not the least bit refreshed. "I'm awake, Poppy," he told the woman.

Pomfrey pointed to the window, where a white luminous dragon peered at them through the glass. "Isn't that Hagrid's Patronus?"

Dumbledore rose from his chair and strode to the window, throwing it open with a bang. "Headmaster, I think I found someone who might've been responsible for young Mr. Lupin's injury. Come quick!"

"Both of you stay here!" Dumbledore ordered a startled Lupin and Pomfrey as he headed for his door.


	12. Catch as Catch Can

Wolston smiled to himself. What were the odds of the Forbidden Forest having a stag with over eight points on his antlers? Pretty slim, he reckoned, especially this close to the village. He watched as the stag gracefully picked his way through the forest's underbrush, thick and heavy from centuries of accumulation. The stag paused twice before leaving Wolston's immediate view, looking around and tilting his magnificent head to listen for sounds of nearby predators. Wolston's smile grew wider, more wicked. Yes, that stag was going to lead him to the other two troublemakers and then they'd see who was the better creature, mighty hunter or stupid animals.

* * *

Prongs was inwardly quaking. Having his back to such a monster was really more than his nerves should have been able to handle but he persevered. Padfoot caught the poacher's scent an hour ago and now Prongs was slowly, cautiously leading the idiot right into a trap. Prongs only hoped he could keep the poacher's attention long enough without the man deciding his antlers would look better over a mantle and his carcass in a stewpot.

When Wormtail nimbly landed on the stag's back, so tense was Prongs he almost had heartfailure on the spot. Wormtail's arrival on the scene meant that Prongs led the poacher just beyond the trap's edge. Prongs paused and he caught Wormtail's mirthful squeak. There was rapid running footsteps from behind him, and following the natural flight pattern of the Red Deer, the stag began to run. Letting out the distinctive roaring sound of the species to warn Padfoot of their quarry's approach, Prongs bolted to the right and hopefully out of the sight of the poacher.

* * *

The rat! Wolston watched in delight as his suspicions regarding the stag were confirmed as the gray rat dropped from a tree branch onto the deer's back. The stag twitched at the intrusion and Wolston grinned as he charged forward, crossbow held forward, finger on the trigger...

* * *

Padfoot soundlessly moved in behind the poacher as planned. He was the backup. If the poacher didn't follow Prongs and Wormtail then Padfoot would give him a little toothy incentive. His heart began to hammer as he realized that the poacher had no intention of following Prongs and Wormtail any further. The crossbow's metal peices glinted dully in the swiftly waning sunlight as the poacher took a bead directly on Prongs. With a horrified growl, Padfoot did what any impulsive, overprotective canine would do...

* * *

The startled scream from behind them caused Prongs to temporarily lose control. Cervine instinct took completely over and he sprang through the trees, weaving in and out to evade his pursuer. A few yards away human reason managed to wiggle it's way back in and the deer sharply swerved around a huge old hawthorn. He could feel Wormtail's little claws dug in deep to hold on. Reassured he still had his companion and now worried that the scream may have been Padfoot in trouble, the stag charged back the way he'd come, determined to discover what happened.

* * *

'Did the man ever bathe?' thought Padfoot as he sought another hold spot, this time on the man's ankle as it flailed out to kick him. The crossbow was lying on the forest floor, forgotten as the poacher valiantly tried to get the maddened hound off. Padfoot snarled and snapped, missing his intended target and taking a kick in the nose instead. 

The poacher reached for the crossbow only to find an enraged stag standing on it, roaring it's displeasure. With a howl of fury and disgust, the poacher shook the dog off one more time before bowling through the underbrush...

...toward the entrance to the Shrieking Shack.

Trap forgotten dog, rat and stag gave chase until the human disappeared into the tunnel. The three of them stood at the forest's edge, out of sight, contemplating what to do next. They were startled when they heard a rumble of thundering footsteps. Out of the gloom of descending night came Rubeus Hagrid, his own crossbow armed and pointed toward the forest. Before anyone could think, Padfoot rushed out, barking madly and running toward the tree. He ran back to Hagrid, barked once more and then darted to the Whomping Willow.

They watched as Hagrid looked at the tree's still frozen branches, then the dog and gave a huff of indignation. The branches, unfrozen of a sudden, lashed out, narrowly missing Padfoot. The big black dog yelped in surprise and dashed out of reach. The tunnel entrance popped open and a man's head leaned out. "Well, come on, ya mangy cur. I've got a nice surprise waitin' on you now!"

Wolston couldn't see Hagrid, but he could see the dog, who merely tipped his head to one side before giving a frightening snarl. Satisfied that he was going to lead his prey in, Wolston slipped all the way back into the shack and began to make plans for when the mutt and his rat buddy appeared. There was no way the stag could make it in the tunnel, but that was all right. After the dog and rat were taken care of, the deer would be an easy kill. Then in less than a week, it would be the werewolf's turn.

* * *

Hagrid disappeared toward his cottage and Padfoot trotted back to Prongs. They moved a bit deeper into the forest and all three shifted cautiously into human form.

"Not quite what we'd planned," commented Peter worriedly.

"Hagrid saw the git?" James demanded, beginning to pace in frustration. 

Sirius was unnaturally still and calm. "Yes but he's not going to stay in there long if someone doesn't go in there and keep him busy until Hagrid gets reinforcements."

"And that's another thing, you showed yourself to Hagrid!" James groaned.

"Dumbledore knows about me, but not you two," Sirius pointed out. "The presence of the dog wouldn't even occur to them as odd, unless he was accompanied by a rat and a deer. And if the moron yammers on about a deer and a rat, who'd believe him? Hagrid never saw you, they've only ever seen me alone." Sirius shrugged and prepared to turn back into Padfoot.

"I don't know, Sirius," Peter said, chewing on the inside of his cheek with indecision. "If he's got something planned in there for Padfoot, it's nothing good. What if you get hurt? Hurt bad enough that you turn back into your human form? Or can't turn into your human form and are missing from school?"

Sirius frowned at that. He looked at James. "We can't let the git escape!" The three of them exchanged uncertain looks. What could they do?

"Peter," James finally said, "tranform. Head for Hagrid's hut. See what he's doing first. We'll keep an eye out here and keep the guy occupied if he tries to get away."

Peter nodded, turned into his nimble rat persona, and raced as fast as his little legs could carry him to Hagrid's. He wasn't gone long, however. The little rat came scurrying back, darted past the other two boys to head deeper into the woods. Alarmed, James and Sirius looked toward where Wormtail came from, only to see the familiar lanky form of their headmaster accompanied by the gigantuan figure of Hagrid. They were heading straight for the Whomping Willow.

Both boys melted into their animal forms and Prongs melted deeper into the shadows with Wormtail. Padfoot however bounded forward in doggy happiness at seeing a familiar human, the epitome of canine pleasure. As he got closer to the tree he gave a credible act of catching the poacher's scent, nose to the ground, growling as he went. He led the two humans straight to the tree and, after dodging branches, dug furiously near the hole as if trying to get in.

"Get back, boy," called Dumbledore, wand drawn and face fierce. Padfoot did as he was told and received an ear scratch and whispered "good boy" from Hagrid for his obedience. The two disappeared into the tunnel beneath the frozen tree. Padfoot didn't even see how Dumbledore got the tree's trigger pushed and didn't care. With Albus Dumbledore on the hunt, that poacher was history.

He traced Prongs and Wormtail's scents, barked at them and together they hurried to the castle in their human forms and safety to impatiently await tomorrow and the results of the evening's machinations.

* * *

Wolston was ready for the dog and his ratty friend. The werewolf trap, set up earlier in the day, was ready for use in a few nights as well. It was rather ingenious, he thought, of someone to put the monster in this shack. How brilliant of him to think of this place as the perfect place to trap the werewolf as well. No one would ever know until the deed was long done.

Killing the dog would be simple enough. The mutt could only come through one entrance and the mutt didn't know that upstairs was all of Wolston's weapons and gear. He'd brought down his rifle. There was no way he could miss such a large target at point blank range.

* * *

Dumbledore and Hagrid crept through the cramped tunnel. Dumbledore's concealment and sound muffling charms gave them the element of surprise only slightly. He also had to widen the tunnel for Hagrid, done with a simple wave of his wand. Who knew what was just beyond the tunnel's end into the shack itself. The older man held up his hand to make Hagrid stay back a moment. Dumbledore cast another, more powerful concealment charm on himself before walking fully into the main living room area of the shack.

The poacher's eyes were glued to the entrance but angled down where an animal would be. Any movement that he possibly could have detected, Dumbledore was gratified to note, was missed. He cautiously circled to get behind the man and reached out to grab the butt of the rifle. Barabbas had no idea what was going on when his rifle was unceremoniously jerked from his grasp, seemed to float into the air and crashed hard onto the floor some distance away.

Wolston yelped in confused fear, causing Hagrid to thunder forward, shouting something no one could understand. The concealment charm didn't work quite as well on Hagrid, giving Wolston the impression of some large, unknown thing coming for him. He made to draw his knife, only to have it fly from his hand and imbed itself into the wall. With a shout of alarm, he backpedaled, intending to race upstairs and use the werewolf's trap on this new menace. Instead he stumbled over something solid, landing on his rear end. Ignoring the smarting pain and paying more attention to the flight response of his instincts, Wolston turned around. His face collided hard with the wall, stunning him for a moment, which was all the moment more Albus Dumbledore needed. With a wordless wave of his wand, the man was unconscious and in a full, unbreakable body bind.

Another nonchalant wand wave and he and Hagrid appeared full-bodied once more in the darkness of the Shrieking Shack's interior. Dumbledore peered at their catch of the day with interest. "As Aberforth assumed, this man is obviously a poacher, Hagrid."

Hagrid spat on the man in disgust. "Thievin', murderin' rogue. What'll we do with him, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore gave an unusually evil smile that faded off with no little regret. "I do believe that there quite a few people who have some ideas on what to do with him, but we shall turn him over to the Ministry after we've discovered what he's been up to here in the shack."

It took them the better part of two hours to uncover everything, but once the rather devilish werewolf trap was dismantled and their captive taken to the proper authorities, Dumbledore went to report to the Lupins, Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall the evening's events.


	13. Dénouement

Remus awoke clear-headed and relatively pain free for the first time in several weeks. He turned his head and smiled at the sight of his father slouched in a rather uncomfortable-looking chair. The older Lupin's head was tipped back and his mouth was open in the most awful snore Remus ever heard. He tried to smother a laugh but his muffled attempt caused his father to start awake. Phineas Lupin slid sideways, lost his balance and almost crashed to the floor before catching and righting himself with little grace or dignity.

The elder Lupin blinked owlishly around, as if attempting to discern what woke him. He glanced toward his son and froze. His face broke into an answering smile and he reached a gentle hand to his son, who grasped it. "Remus?" Phineas whispered. "How are you, son?"

"I'm fine, Papa," Remus assured his father. "I feel sore but I'm not nearly in as much pain." He paused, brow wrinkling. "What happened?"

Remus' father paused, as if weighing what to tell his son. "Madam Pomfrey and the headmaster worked most of the night on you. It was most definitely silver poisoning. They purged it and Albus left."

Remus frowned. "The headmaster left?"

Phineas nodded. "Yes, it seems Hagrid found the one responsible and they caught him. This morning the man was taken to the Ministry, charged with poaching in the Forbidden Forest and endangering humans. It appears he tried to place traps around the outskirts of the village and the school grounds, apparently in the hopes of catching some of the creatures the Magical Creatures professor uses as well as wild animals in the vicinity. He easily could have harmed anyone, though."

"How did he find me?" asked Remus, alarmed. Things were starting to click into place, things that his father and the headmaster hopefully knew nothing about.

"Dumbledore says that the man claimed to have found you in the forest with some companions. Ridiculous, of course, especially considering the animals he claims you were with. High unlikely a werewolf would be with a dog, a rat and a deer. Dumbledore believes it more likely he heard you in the Shack, found a way in, got attacked by you, retaliated and last night went back to set up traps." Phineas' hands clenched into fists of rage before he relaxed once more. "Don't worry. Albus has tightened the security around the Shack and will be checking up on you for the next couple of months to make sure nothing else happens."

Remus watched his father's expressions closely. "Are you going to pull me from school?"

"No!" came a shout from the doorway. It was almost overridden by a horrified "You can't!" The two Lupins looked to the door to see James, Sirius and Peter there, looking absolutely gobsmacked.

"He can't leave, Mr. Lupin!" begged Peter, rushing forward. "Whatever happened wasn't his fault!"

"The headmaster told us what happened. It was a freak accident. No one believes the guy. Don't make him go!" cried James in agitation.

"You can't take him," Sirius stated in a belligerent manner, arms folded defiantly. "He's our friend. We're a quartet, not a trio. You take him, you get us too."

"Er." James looked askance at his best friend, while Peter began to nod mutinously before gaping at Sirius in surprise when the taller boy's words sunk in.

Remus was astonished. "What did you say?"

Phineas Lupin looked amused. "The headmaster has managed to badger me into allowing Remus to remain. You have two years left, after all. No need for histrionics, Mr. Black."

"Well," said Sirius, looking slightly abashed. "There you go then."

"Indeed," chuckled the older Lupin. "I will give you boys some privacy. I'm hungry. The headmaster has invited me to join him for breakfast in his office. Remus, Madam Pomfrey should be here with your breakfast as soon as you ask for it."

"Yes, sir," Remus told his father with respectful affection as his father ruffled his hair as he got up. He waited only a few seconds after he no longer could hear his father's footsteps in the hall before turning to his three best friends. They were gazing anxiously at him. "Okay. Now that all's well that ends well apparently, spill it. _All_ of it."

There was a moment of further silence before James began speaking. When he ran out of breath, Sirius took up the story. Madam Pomfrey bustled in halfway through the telling, delivering Remus a breakfast large enough for four hungry teenagers. She conjured a table and three chairs, levitating the tray onto it. She left them with only an admonishment of being careful and quiet. Peter took up the tale after their first plateful of food.

"The headmaster told us this morning what happened in the shack with him and Hagrid facing off the poacher," Peter finished with a nod of approval.

Remus was stunned. "Stone me!" he exclaimed when he was certain his friends were done with their fantastic tale.

James chuckled. "Tell me about it. Lived it and can hardly believe myself." He reached for the last slice of toast, liberally smothering it with marmalade.

Sirius, however, looked anxious. "Are we forgiven? We did everything we could to -"

Remus cut his friend off. "Yes, Sirius, all three of you are forgiven. I understand. I expect _you_ to understand, though, that I think some quiet moons for a while are in order, okay?"

"Not a problem," assured Peter ferverently, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Bloody right," agreed James, crunching on his toast.

Sirius looked affronted. "Ah man, I had a great-" He held up his hands in surrender, gray eyes twinkling merrily at the threatening looks his friends gave him. "You got it. I completely agree."

"Right," commented James.

"Oh please," scoffed Peter.

"You berk," chuckled Remus, settling back into pillows, satisfied that once again his world was aright.

Remus' world wasn't right though, not immediately. Reunited with his friends, differences worked through, he was feeling better everyday. In a week's time, he was walking without the crutches. By the end of the following week he was racing through the corridors, attempting to chase down his expensive quill that Sirius enchanted. 

He collided with someone and both of them bounced off the other, sailing into opposite walls. "Watch it!" snarled the student Remus ran into.

"Sorry!" Remus said, reaching into the air and snatching his errant quill.

"You're damned lucky the truce is still on for the moment, Lupin," the voice attached to the sullen form of the Slytherin Severus Snape continued to snarl. "Otherwise, I'd hex you into next term." The Slytherin stalked off, head high, arrogantly prominent nose in the air.

A sly smile crossed Remus' face as he made his way back to Sirius, James and Peter. "What was that about?" asked James suspiciously.

"We still under truce?" asked Sirius peevishly. "Regulus has been getting cheeky with his older brother and needs a lesson." 

Remus pointed his wand at Snape and muttered something the others could quite hear. The effect was gratifying, however. Snape's roar of outrage and fury echoed down the corridor filled with other Hogwarts students' making their way to classes. The four of them gaped at the effect of Remus' charm, turned as a unit and made quickly for their next shared class. Far away from the enraged, vengeful Slytherin.

"Truce's off," Remus told Sirius, glancing over his shoulder and ducking Snape's return fire. They laughed as they slipped into the classroom.

"Good," chuckled Sirius, "cuz this is what I planned to do to Regulus." The four put their heads together and planned to continue living up to their name, The Marauders of Hogwarts.


End file.
